. 


LABRADOR 


NASKAPI 


LABRADOR 


BY 


WILLIAM  B.  CABOT 


WITH  MANY  ILLUSTRATIONS 
FROM  PHOTOGRAPHS 


BOSTON 

SMALL,  MAYNARD  &  COMPANY 

PUBLISHERS 


C^3 


Copyright,  1920, 
By  SMALL,  MAYNARD  &  COMPANY 

( INCORPORATED ) 


PREFACE 

It  has  been  said  by  some  one,  within  recent  years, 
that  all  the  places  now  unexplored  were  so  miserably 
bad  that  no  one  would  care  to  have  anything  to  do  with 
them.  The  caribou  country  or  northeastern  Labrador 
may  or  may  not  be  an  exception  to  this  rule.  There 
are  worse  regions  to  wander  in.  Moreover,  the  people 
are  to  be  considered.  Not  every  one  cares  for  native 
races,  but  most  wilderness  travelers  do.  I  have  myself 
found  the  Labrador  people  well  worth  while. 

The  Indian  names  I  have  used  need  some  explana- 
tion. Assiwaban,  the  name  of  the  fine  stream  the 
George  River  people  come  to  the  coast  by,  is  pro- 
nounced As-si-waw-ban.  It  means  "  Waiting  place," 
from  a  deer  pass  near  the  coastal  height  of  land  where 
the  Indians  camp  and  wait  for  the  migration  to  come 
from  north.  The  river,  or  brook,  as  the  shore  whites 
call  these  larger  streams,  is  best  known  to  the  bay 
people  as  Frank's  Brook,  from  the  name  of  a  one- 
time resident  near  its  mouth.  These  personal  names 
given  to  bays  and  rivers  are  more  or  less  subject  to 
change,  accordingly  as  the  settlers  change  and  succeed 
one  another.  One  year  the  river  may  be  Smith's, 
another  year  Jones's,  and  in  due  time,  perhaps,  Robin- 
son's. I  have  taken  pleasure  in  rescuing  the  names  of 
some  of  these  clear  Indian  rivers,  particularly  the  As- 
siwaban, and  the  N6-ta-qua-non,  from  the  ignominy 
of  shifting  white  nomenclature.     Likewise  I  have  used 


4G9228 


vi  Preface 

the  Eskimo  name  O-pe-tik  Bay  for  the  Merryfield  Bay 
of  Low's  map,  partly  because  the  latter  name  is  not 
used  now,  even  by  the  shore  people,  who  have  reverted 
to  the  ancient  designation,  never  in  fact  abandoned  by 
them,  of  Opetik. 

Mistastin  means,  as  nearly  as  our  clumsy  out-door 
English  permits,  "  Where  the  wind  blows  everything 
off  the  ground,"  that  is,  moss  and  trash  and  light  soil. 

The  personal  names  are  mostly  explained  in  the  text. 
Kamoques  is  pronounced  in  three  syllables.  In  Ashi- 
maganish  the  accented  a  is  like  a  in  father.  I  am  sorry 
to  say  that  the  name  of  old  Nijwa  is  incorrect,  although 
Nijwa  is  something  like  it.  The  meaning  of  her  actual 
name  is  Snipe,  yellow-leg  sinpe.  Ah-pe-wat,  as  well 
Ah-pe-wot,  means  an  imbedded  pebble,  as  in  pudding- 
stone.  "  You  know  the  little  stones  that  grow  inside 
a  rock?"  said  old  E.,  my  chief  source  of  information 
in  such  matters,  "  They  are  Ah-pe-wat."  As  to  Pi- 
a-shun-a-hwao,  who  by  the  way  is  a  worthy  son  of  the 
great  chief  at  Ungava,  old  E.  explained,  "  When  you 
shoot  anything  handy,  that's  Pi-a-shun-a-hwao."  The 
a  in  the  first  and  last  syllables  of  P.'s  name  is  long,  as 
in  fate ;  the  other  a  might  be  o  or  uh. 

One  or  two  English  names  I  have  changed,  for 
reasons  which  are  commonplace.  One  cannot  be 
wholly  unrestrained  when  writing  of  living  people. 
The  happenings  related,  however,  if  not  exciting,  are 
at  least  true.  I  wish  I  had  felt  competent  to  deal  with 
the  subject  of  Dr.  Grenfell's  remarkable  mission  work, 
as  well  as  that  of  the  Moravians.  I  owe  much  to  the 
kindness  of  both  establishments. 

The  map  inserted  is  rather  a  sketch.  The  coast  is 
taken  mainly  from  the  sea  chart,  a  poor  reliance.     In- 


Preface  vii 

land  the  distances  are  only  estimated,  and  the  courses 
taken  with  a  small  hunting  compass,  but  the  longitude 
64 °  25',  at  the  west  end  of  the  portage  between  the 
Kanekautsh  lakes,  should  be  a  pretty  good  one.  It 
fixes  the  position  of  the  George  River,  ten  or  eleven 
miles  farther  west,  and  a  rather  important  matter.  I 
should  not  care,  however,  to  insist  upon  the  exactness 
of  even  this  observation,  as  it  is  not  easy  to  keep  one's 
timepieces  steady  in  such  rough  travel  as  was  involved. 
Still  we  had  three  good  watches,  carefully  rated. 

The  Montagnias  route  by  the  No-ta-quanon  is,  of 
course,  not  drawn  to  scale.  Like  all  Indian  maps,  it 
is  made  only  to  travel  by.  For  this  purpose,  however, 
their  maps  are  often  better  than  ours.  One  needs  to 
be  used  to  their  method. 

I  have  named  the  regular  Indian  height  of  land 
crossing  at  the  head  of  Hawk  Lake,  the  Quackenbush 
Pass ;  the  fine  trap  headland  at  the  west  end  of  Mistastin 
Lake,  Walcott  Dyke,  and  the  low  but  commanding  hill 
at  the  outlet  of  Mistinipi,  and  from  which  Dr.  Howe 
and  I  took  observations  in  19 10,  Howe  Hill. 

The  larger  part  of  the  material  presented  in  this 
book  was  issued  in  my  "  Northern  Labrador,"  and  is 
here  given  in  revised  and  amplified  form. 


CONTENTS 

CHAPTER  PAGE 

Preface    v 

I     Labrador i 

II  Newfoundland 13 

III  The  Atlantic  Coast 29 

IV  Fanny's  Harbor 45 

V    Indians 57 

VI     1904 132 

VII     1905 161 

VIII     1906 187 

IX     1910 267 

X     Mice .  292 

XI     Southeast 300 

XII     Eskimo  Bay  and  River 311 

XIII     Observations 338 


ILLUSTRATIONS 

Naskapi Frontispiece 

Page 

A  Game  Pass  at  Mistastin  Headland 4 

Waiting  for  Fish 12 

Hauling  a  Trap 12 

The  Cape  Race  Coast 16 

A  Small  Berg 16 

Off  Battle  Harbor 24 

Wallace,  Hubbard,  and  Elson 32 

Undercut  Ice,  Fanny's  Harbor,  July  22 32 

The  Cook  of  the  Cambria 44 

Overturning  Ice,  Near  Voisey's  Bay,  1905      44 

At  Red  Point 50 

Davis  Inlet 50 

Daniel's  Summer  House 58 

Daniel's  Dogs 58 

From  Daniel's  House      62 

Looking  Across  Davis  Inlet 62 

The  Noahs  Splitting  Fish,  Tuhpungiuk  in  Background  68 

Un'sekat 68 

Summer  Ptarmigan 74 

Winter  Ptarmigan 74 

Spracklin      84 

Cod 84 

Kamoques 92 

Ah-pe-wat 104 

Sea  Trout  at  Un'sekat       114 

xi 


xii  Labrador 

Page 

Squaretail  and  Lake  Trout,  Assiwaban  River,  1906      .  114 

Jim  Lane 122 

A  Bear,  Bear  Pond,  1905 122 

A  Finback,  Hawk  Harbor      130 

The  Beginning  of  the  Pack,  Cape  Harrigan,  1905     .    .  130 

The  Wind  Lake  of  the  Assiwaban,  Cabot  Lake     ...  140 

Wolverene,  under  side 146 

Summer  Wolverene 146 

An  Indian  Offering.     Bear's  Skull  on  Pole 150 

A  Weathered  Boulder,  Mistastin  Lake 150 

On  the  High  Portage.    The  Steeper  Part  is  Below  .    .  158 

A  Good  Roof 158 

Indian  Camp  in  the  Barrens 164 

A  Traveling  Tent 164 

Guests 168 

Barren  Ground  Lake,  Tshinutivish,  1906 168 

Pounding  Pemmican      172 

Ostinitsu 176 

On  the  Assiwaban 180 

White  Moss  Slopes  with  Caribou  Paths,  Mistinipi    .    .  186 

Assiwaban  River,  from  West  of  High  Portage   ....  190 

A  Mosquito  Day.     Dr.  Howe  in  1910 190 

Mistinipi 196 

The  White  Moss  Hills,  Near  Mistinipi 196 

Nahpayo,  Pakuunnoh,  Ah-pe-wat,  1906      204 

From  the  High  Portage      204 

Abram  and  George  Lane 210 

Sam  Bromfield  with  Salmon,  1906 210 

Enough  for  a  Cache 224 

Hair  Skins  Drying,  Mistinipi,  1906      224 

A  Raised  Beach 232 

Making  Pemmican  and  Working  Skins,  Mistinipi     .    .  240 


Labrador  xiii 

Page 

A  Windy  Camp 244 

Caribou 248 

A  Windrow  of  Horns 254 

Long  Pond,  from  Caribou  Hill      260 

Watching  the  Caribou.    Lookout  and  Deer  Crossing  at 

Mistinipi 264 

Puckway 266 

A  Mistinipi  Bearskin 270 

Fleshing  a  Deerskin  with  Double  Leg  Bone  of  a  Deer  270 

Nijwa,  Dressed  wholly  in  Caribou  Skins 274 

A  Food  Scaffold 278 

Crushed  Marrowbones  from  perhaps  a  Thousand  Deer  278 

At  Davis  Inlet 286 

A  Dead  Fall,  Mistinipi,  1910 286 

Tshinutivish 290 

In  a  Tshinutivish  Lodge 304 

Hair  Skins,  Mistinipi,  1906 304 

A  Tshinutivish  Lodge.    Broiling  a  Whitensh    ....  314 


IN  NORTHERN  LABRADOR 


CHAPTER  I 

LABRADOR 

Interior  Labrador,  if  a  country  of  severe  winter 
conditions,  and  not  too  easy  to  travel  in  at  any  time, 
is  not  quite  the  desolation  generally  supposed.  Un- 
available for  most  purposes  it  is,  even  as  regions  of 
its  rather  high  latitudes  go,  and  of  course  an  utter 
wilderness,  but  its  name  is  worse  than  it  deserves.  The 
peninsula  is  seldom  cold  in  summer,  and  if  its  rivers 
were  less  difficult  it  would  be  more  widely  known  as  a 
field  of  exploring  and  travel;  and  also,  from  its  great 
extent,  as  a  nearly  inexhaustible  one.  The  usual 
summer  wanderer  at  least  is  not  in  a  way  to  make  much 
impression  upon  its  spaces.  Nor  after  all  does  such  a 
country  appeal  to  the  many.     It  is  too  elemental  a  land. 

The  long  Atlantic  coast  of  the  peninsula,  rocky,  berg 
sentineled,  and  barren,  has  failed  in  the  eyes  of  navi- 
gators from  the  first.  To  hardy  Leif  Ericson  it  ap- 
peared a  "  land  good  for  nothing  " ;  he  called  it  Hellu- 
land,  "  Flat-stone  Land,"  and  sailed  away.  Worse  yet 
was  old  Jacques  Cartier's  oft-quoted  title,  "  The  land 
which  God  gave  Cain  " ;  a  sincerity,  touched  by  what- 
ever of  temperament,  which  brooks  no  counter.     He 

spoke  as  he  saw.     But  it  is  to  be  remembered  that 

l 


2  Labrador 

Jacques  Cartier  was  born  to  sunny  France,  and  saw 
only  the  blasted  outer  shores  of  the  peninsula  —  per- 
haps in  one  of  its  sunless,  harder  moods.  It  is  fortu- 
nately true  that  the  exposed  coasts  of  the  world  are 
not  always  to  be  taken  as  an  index  of  what  is  to  be 
found  within,  and  the  coasts  of  Carrier's  bitter  word 
are  faced  to  polar  blasts  unbroken. 

The  trouble  with  interior  Labrador,  the  great  table- 
land, is  less  climatic  than  geological;  it  has  little  soil. 
The  last  ice-cap,  which  left  the  country  only  a  little 
time  since,  as  such  periods  go,  ground  away  the  rocks, 
already  old,  to  their  hard,  unweathering  base ;  and  upon 
this  foundation  soil  makes  but  slowly.  If  there  were 
enough  soil  almost  the  whole  tableland  would  be 
forested  high. 

Yet  climate  brought  the  ice-cap,  and  climate  has 
played  its  full  part.  The  present  period  finds  the 
peninsula  surrounded  by  cold  seas,  ice  locked  for  many 
months  of  the  year,  never  ice  free  excepting  on  the 
very  south.  The  winds  from  all  shores  are  cold. 
What  the  aspect  of  the  country  was  when  the  broad 
interior  sea  from  Hudson's  Bay  south,  the  Central 
Sea,  made  for  warmer  currents,  none  can  now  say. 
There  has  been  time  and  change  enough  for  anything. 
This  long-enduring  land,  one  of  the  oldest  primal  faces 
of  the  globe,  may  have  been  the  cradle  of  the  human 
race.  It  lies  in  moderate  latitudes,  little  as  this  may 
have  counted  in  the  past,  for  coal  and  fern  fossils  are 
found  still  farther  to  the  north.  England,  with  its 
scarce-freezing  winters,  lies  level  to  the  east;  the  ex- 
treme of  Scotland  is  broad  off  the  swirling  ice  fields  of 
Ungava  Bay,  as  high  in  latitude,  almost,  as  the  farthest 
northern  extension  of  the  peninsula.     The  northern 


Labrador  3 

limit  of  Labrador's  main  body  is  only  the  parallel  of 
6o°,  a  parallel  which  in  many  places  cuts  through  settled 
lands,  through  waving  wheatfields  often,  around  the 
world. 

In  the  earlier  ages  of  the  unchanging  old  peninsula 
its  territorial  neighbors  were  only  in  the  building. 
Other  lands,  far  and  near,  were  made  and  unmade,  the 
sea  came  and  the  sea  went,  while  this  old  cornerpost 
of  the  continent  held  its  ancient  place,  not  much  changed 
in  outline,  but  wearing,  wearing,  wearing  down  through 
inconceivable  time.  Wide  were  the  transformations  of 
other  areas  of  the  hemisphere,  and  by  comparison 
rapid,  a  turmoil  of  continental  forms. 

So  it  is  that  the  actual  age  of  what  one  now  sees  in 
the  peninsula  is  hopelessly  beyond  reckoning.  In 
valleys  eroded  far  into  the  older  rocks  have  been  found 
deposits  of  the  more  recent  Cambrian  measures,  laid 
down  since  the  valleys  were  completed.  The  valleys 
had  been  cut  down  in  previous  ages  by  a  process  so 
slow  that  our  minds  fail  before  it.  Yet  this  "  recent " 
Cambrian,  laid  in  after  the  valleys  had  reached  their 
depth,  has  been  thought  to  date  back  twenty-eight 
million  years.1  Even  then  the  tale  is  not  told.  The 
under  rock,  the  "  basement  complex  "  of  geology,  is 
believed  to  have  been  formed  from  sediments  too ;  the 
real  foundation  is  below. 

Now  the  peninsula  is  mainly  an  uneven  waste  of 
low  hills  and  ridges.  The  glacial  moraines  and  the 
terraced  drift  of  the  valleys  bear  trees  only  sparsely, 
save  to  the  south  and  in  low  valleys  near  the  sea.  So 
recently  was  the  ice-cap  over  all  that  the  innumerable 
Indian-known  lakes  of  the  plateau  have  not  had  time 

*Far  more,  by  latest  chronologies. 


4  Labrador 

to  drain  themselves  by  cutting  down  their  outlets  or  to 
become  silted  up  by  material  from  higher  levels.  Their 
life  falls  almost  within  the  historic  old-world  period. 
Not  many  thousand  years,  at  any  rate,  a  negligible  span 
geologically,  may  well  cover  the  time  since  the  ice  de- 
parted. In  earlier  time,  while  the  glaciers  were  still 
moving  seaward,  the  coast  was  flanked  by  bergs  from  its 
own  inland,  and  the  stately  procession  which  now  passes 
from  Baffin's  Bay  along  the  coast  may  have  been  locked 
in  the  north,  or  forced  to  a  distant  offing. 

Exploitation  in  the  modern  sense  has  found  no  foot- 
hold, save  for  a  few  lumber  and  pulp  operations  in  the 
outer  valleys  of  the  south.  Minerals  may  well  appear 
on  the  western  side,  difficult  of  access  now,  and  there 
is  iron  in  quantity  on  the  southern  slope  and  in  the 
central  north,  but  the  archsean  rocks  of  the  main  part 
of  the  country  are  not  very  promising  otherwise.  In 
the  notheast  are  recent  rocks  of  more  hopeful  aspect, 
occupying  an  area  remarkably  described  by  Reginald 
Daly,  in  Dr.  Grenfell's  "  Labrador."  Better  oppor- 
tunities for  prospecting  on  the  western  side  will  follow 
the  building  of  the  Hudson's  Bay  railroad  from  Mani- 
toba. 

The  ultimate  future  of  the  semi-barrens,  which 
stretch  away  from  the  middle  country  to  Ungava  and 
the  polar  north,  may  be  as  pasture  ground  for  domesti- 
cated reindeer,  in  the  hands  of  some  northern  nomadic 
race  —  perhaps  Lapps  or  the  present  Eskimo-white 
strain  of  the  shores.  Meanwhile  the  one  product  of 
the  interior,  not  to  be  wholly  superseded  even  if  miner- 
als are  found,  is  fur,  which  will  not  soon  fail.  This 
is  its  only  yield  to  the  world.  Most  other  regions  of 
earth  left  to  the  hunter  races  are  being  fast  invaded; 


A  GAME  PASS.    BEAR  AND  CARIBOU  PATH  AT  MISTASTIN  HEADLAND 


Labrador  5 

they  are  more  amenable  to  modern  purpose,  their 
borders  are  approachable  the  year  around.  But  iso- 
lated Labrador,  avoided  to  this  day  in  the  great  west- 
ward march  of  civilization,  may  yet  be  known  as  the 
"  last  of  the  fur  countries." 

Whatever  its  economic  future,  the  invitation  of  the 
country  to  the  wilderness  traveler,  the  traveler  with  a 
taste  for  unworn  places,  is  unusual.  Nowhere  are 
such  clear,  unfished  rivers,  mapped  and  unmapped, 
large  rivers  and  small ;  nowhere  are  such  white-moss 
hills  as  those  of  the  semi-barrens,  velvet  to  the  feet 
and  fair  to  the  eye.  More  than  all  are  the  lakes.  Its 
lakes  are  Labrador's  glory.  Wide  over  the  plateau 
they  spread,  along  the  watersheds  and  in  the  higher 
valleys.  Nowhere  are  such  lakes, —  from  the  tiny 
"  flashets  "  of  the  Newfoundlanders,  their  mission  only 
to  reflect  the  sky,  to  great  Michikamau  and  Mistassini, 
with  their  far  water  horizons.  Lake  Mistassini,  the 
largest,  is  a  hundred  miles  long. 

Nor  is  it  easy  in  this  day  to  find  the  primitive  hunter 
life  as  unchanged  over  a  large  country  as  in  Labrador. 
Over  their  great  territory  the  people  still  wander  at 
will,  knowing  no  alien  restraint,  no  law  but  their  own. 
The  unwritten  code  of  the  lodge  and  open,  the  ancient 
beliefs,  still  prevail. 

Not  a  few  districts  of  Labrador  are  as  yet  unex- 
plored. None  of  them  is  very  large  unless  in  the  far 
Northwest,  but  particularly  in  the  central  area  and  the 
northern  half  of  the  peninsula  generally,  there  is  fresh 
ground  for  the  seasonal  visitor,  the  minor  explorer,  for 
a  long  time  to  come.  It  is  true  that  some  of  these 
regions  are  not  easy  of  access,  for  the  rivers  are  strong 
and  the  distances  great,  but  there  remain  good  regions 


6  Labrador 

which  are  near  and  accessible.  It  may  be  taken  that 
no  white  man  has  ever  crossed  the  country  from  side 
to  side.  The  journey  would  be  one  of  near  a  thousand 
miles,  as  one  would  go.  Yet,  inaccurately  enough,  sev- 
eral of  us  who  go  into  the  country  are  announced  to 
have  "  crossed  Labrador."  So  with  Mrs.  Hubbard, 
and  Dillon  Wallace,  and  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Stephen  Tasker 
and  myself.  Corners  of  it  some  of  us  have  crossed,  but 
in  trips  not  exceeding  half  the  width  of  the  main  penin- 
sula. There  is  a  difference  between  being  two  or  three 
hundred  miles  from  a  base  and  five. 

Before  the  time  of  Low,  whose  report  came  out  in 
1896,  it  was  difficult  to  get  much  information  about 
the  country,  particularly  the  middle  and  northern  parts. 
There  was  not  much  trouble  about  the  southern  slope 
to  a  distance  east  of  the  Moisie,  for  the  main  rivers 
had  been  more  or  less  mapped.  But  the  most  interest- 
ing parts  of  these  rivers,  the  upper  headwaters  and 
lakes  of  their  watersheds,  had  been  left  untouched.  In 
the  southwest,  however,  on  the  Saguenay  branches,  and 
on  the  Outardes  and  Maniquagan,  surveys  had  reached 
well  to  the  heights  of  land. 

There  had  been  some  other  observations  by  good 
observers,  though  lacking  instruments  of  precision. 
One  of  the  best  known  of  these  explorations  was  by 
Henry  Youle  Hind,  in  the  early  sixties.  He  saw  the 
fire-swept  country  about  the  head  of  the  Moisie,  and 
was  impressed  by  its  desolation.  "  Words,"  he  wrote, 
"  fail  to  describe  the  awful  desolation  of  the  Labrador 
tableland."  Hind  had  imagination  beyond  most  Labra- 
dor travelers,  and  his  gatherings  about  the  Indians, 
who  naturally  attracted  him,  show  unusual  illumination. 
At  that  time  they  were  being  forced  from  the  ruined 


Labrador  7 

plateau  to  the  Gulf  shores,  to  perish  untimely  from  the 
damp  climate  and  unaccustomed  diseases.  Hind's  book 
was  long  the  standard  upon  Labrador,  and  is  still  inter- 
esting. 

The  lower  Hamilton  was  visited  in  1887  by  Mr.  R.  F. 
Holmes,  who  brought  away  a  good  sketch  map  of  the 
river  as  far  as  Lake  Winikapau.  His  objective  had 
been  the  Grand  Falls,  then  assumed  to  drop  sheer  from 
the  plateau  level  of  near  two  thousand  feet  elevation 
to  the  level  of  the  sea.  Deficiencies  of  equipment 
caused  his  early  return.  The  falls  are  really  a  little 
more  than  three  hundred  feet  high. 

In  1 89 1  Cary  and  Cole  of  Bowdoin  College  reached 
the  falls,  two  hunderd  and  fifty  miles  above  tidewater, 
and  were  followed  closely  by  Henry  G.  Bryant  and 
Arthur  Keniston,  the  first  to  measure  them.  While 
Cary  and  Cole  were  away  from  their  boat  at  the  falls 
it  caught  fire  and  burned,  and  they  were  left  to  make 
their  way  back  by  a  serious  foot-and-raft  trip  to  the 
coast.  Dr.  Low  happened  to  be  at  Northwest  River 
Post  when  they  came  out,  looking  the  hard  experience 
they  had  had.  They  came  swimming  across  the  river, 
some  two  miles  wide,  on  a  log,  in  the  remnants  of  their 
clothes.  Low  afterward  told  Stuart  Cotter,  a  Hudson's 
Bay  Company  friend,  that  the  unconcerned  way  in 
which  they  took  the  whole  matter  was  extraordinary. 

In  the  northeast  occurred  the  journeys  of  John 
McLean,  about  1840.  From  Fort  Chimo,  on  Ungava 
Bay,  he  followed  the  Indian  route  to  Michikamau, 
thence  descending  past  the  Grand  Falls  to  Hamilton 
Inlet.  In  1838  he  made  a  notable  winter  walk  from 
Chimo  to  Northwest  River,  some  six  hundred  miles, 
following  Northwest  River  itself  for  part  of  its  course, 


8  Labrador 

and  returning  by  much  the  same  route.  The  stark  life- 
lessness  of  the  country  at  times  was  much  the  same  then 
as  now. — "  We  saw  no  game,"  was  his  significant  re- 
mark regarding  the  return  trip.  It  is  unwritten  history 
that  fifty  miles  from  Chimo  the  party  gave  out  and  were 
saved  the  fate  of  Hubbard,  who  in  recent  years  met 
his  end  by  starvation  on  the  same  route,  only  by  the 
efforts  of  an  Indian,  who  had  strength  to  force  his 
way  to  the  post  and  send  back  relief.  The  parallel 
with  the  case  of  Hubbard  is  singularly  near,  and  quite 
identical  as  regards  the  rescue  of  his  companion, 
Wallace.  A  white  man  of  each  party  was  saved  by 
the  devotion  and  endurance  of  an  Indian.  The  occur- 
rences were  sixty-seven  years  apart.  As  to  McLean's 
discovery  of  the  Grand  Falls,  there  is  no  reasonable 
doubt  that  they  were  visited  some  years  before  his  time 
by  David  Dixon,  or  Dickson,  a  trader.  This  was  told 
me  by  his  grandson,  whose  name  is  Hewitt,  and  who 
now  lives  in  Boston. 

One  more  notable  journey  was  made  during  the  later 
period,  that  of  Father  Lacasse,  who  travelled  with 
Indians  in  1875  or  ^7^  from  Northwest  River  Post 
to  Chimo  over  substantially  the  same  route,  as  far  as 
Michikamau,  followed  by  Dillon  Wallace  in  1905. 

These  explorers  belonged  to  quite  a  recent  time; 
their  period  is  the  modern  one  of  much  writing,  of 
reports  and  books  and  magazines;  therefore  we  all 
know  them.  But  it  would  not  do  to  take  their  part  as 
being  more  than  a  small  proportion  of  the  white  man's 
wanderings  that  went  on  in  the  peninsula  previous  to 
the  time  of  Low.  Traders  and  Jesuit  missionaries  and 
their  successors  the  Oblate  Fathers,  and  before  all  if  not 
through  all  the  old  Coureurs  des  Bois,  traveled  and 


Labrador  9 

drifted  with  the  Indians  from  the  very  beginnings  of 
the  early  French  period.  Of  most  of  their  wanderings, 
as  of  their  experiences,  no  record  exists.  They  always 
traveled  with  Indians,  and  the  network  of  Indian  routes 
extends  to  Ungava  and  the  treeless  north. 

Little  less  negligible  for  present  purposes  were  the 
voyagings  of  Hudson's  Bay  Company  people  during 
the  long  period  when  inland  posts  were  maintained,  for 
the  employees  of  the  company  were  enjoined  to  silence 
about  the  country,  and  whatever  records  they  made 
are  not  available.  Now  the  only  remaining  post  of 
the  company  in  the  main  interior  is  at  Nichicun,  near 
the  geographical  center  and  apex  of  the  peninsula,  and 
few,  if  any,  of  the  Hudson's  Bay  Company  officers  at 
the  shores  are  qualified  to  undertake  inland  travel. 
The  title  of  Inland  Man  is  all  but  extinct. 

Such  was  the  position  of  exploration  to  the  early 
nineties.  Until  then  the  maps  of  the  main  part  of  the 
country  showed  few  dependable  features.  Some  of 
the  principal  lakes  were  laid  down,  usually  wrong  in 
place,  shape,  and  size,  and  often  in  drainage.  Like- 
wise certain  of  the  larger  rivers,  known  by  their  estu- 
aries at  the  coasts,  were  almost  an  equal  credit  to  the 
draughtsman's  imagination,  and  a  firm  range  or  two 
of  mountains  was  apt  to  be  thrown  in.  There  was 
some  foundation  of  report  for  most  of  the  features 
shown,  but  to  any  one  planning  to  travel  in  the  country 
the  maps  would  as  well  have  been  left  blank. 

Chiefly  in  the  early  nineties  came  the  real  surveys 
of  Low,  to  whose  methods  of  accuracy  the  main  table- 
land was  as  a  clean  page.  The  wide-spaced  gridiron 
of  his  travel  routes  is  shown  on  his  well-known  map 
of  1896.     His  notable  journey  from  Lake  St.  John  to 


10  Labrador 

Chimo  by  Mistassini,  Nichicun,  Kaniapishkau,  and  the 
Koksoak  remains  the  only  diametrical  crossing  of  the 
country  to  this  time.  The  pace  had  to  be  unremitting, 
rainy  days  and  Sundays  alike,  and  the  expedition  only 
just  caught  the  Hudson's  Bay  Company  steamer  in  the 
fall,  on  its  way  south.  The  voyageurs  of  his  principal 
expeditions  were  not  Indians  of  the  regions  visited, 
but  Montagnais  from  Lake  St.  John.  Transported 
provisions  were  depended  upon  to  the  high  level,  where 
fish  netted  in  the  lakes  considerably  took  their  place. 
It  is  to  be  noted  that  in  the  interminable  water  courses 
of  the  central  area  local  guides  were  absolutely  neces- 
sary to  his  effective  progress.  As  one  of  his  Indians 
told  me  in  later  years,  with  a  ring  of  appreciation,  "  We 
always  had  a  guide !  "  For  the  want  of  one,  in  a 
later  year,  Low  had  to  give  up  going  from  Lake  Nao- 
kokan  to  Nichicun,  only  a  few  miles'  distance.  He 
was  several  days  trying  to  find  the  outlet  of  Noakokan, 
the  lake  being  large  and  masked  by  islands,  and  finally 
gave  up  and  returned  down  the  Maniquagan  which 
he  had  just  ascended.  He  was  short  of  provisions, 
else  he  would  of  course  have  made  his  way  through, 
a  matter  only  of  a  little  more  time.  Afterward  he 
learned  that  the  outlet  was  very  close  to  the  inlet  by 
which  he  had  entered  the  lake.  In  the  matter  o'f  sup- 
plies a  remark  of  his  in  Dr.  Grenfell's  "  Labrador  " 
is  worth  remembering:  "A  good  supply  of  provi- 
sions means  good-natured  canoe  men,  willing  to  go  any- 
where without  a  thought  of  danger,  whereas  the  suspi- 
cion of  starvation  will  change  the  same  men  into  a  dis- 
contented, mutinous  crew." 

The  most  important  work  done  since  Low's  return 
is  Mrs.   Hubbard's  exploration  of  Northwest  River, 


Labrador  11 

while  scarcely  less  to  be  appreciated  is  her  good  travel 
map  of  George  River.  A  later  journey  made  by  Mr. 
and  Mrs.  Stephen  Tasker  from  Richmond  Gulf  to 
Chimo,  a  distance  of  nearly  five  hundred  miles,  re- 
quired perhaps  as  much  hardihood  as  any  that  could 
be  named,  being  a  single-canoe  voyage  in  a  nearly  game- 
less  country,  the  men  of  the  party  shadowed,  more- 
over, by  responsibility  for  the  safety  of  the  woman 
passenger.  The  voyageurs  were  George  Elson  and 
Job  Chapies,  men  to  whom  much  of  Mrs.  Hubbard's 
success  in  1905  had  been  due. 

After  the  completion  of  Low's  work  it  was  my 
fortune  to  fall  upon  some  of  his  old  voyageurs  at 
Lake  St.  John,  one  of  whom  was  John  Bastian,  a 
Scotch  Montagnais  now  near  Murray  Bay.  He  was 
one  of  my  two  companions,  in  1899,  during  a  mid- 
winter walk  to  Mistassini  Lake,  on  Rupert  River,  the 
third  member  of  the  party  being  Robert  Richards,  a 
Scotch  Cree  from  Hudson's  Bay,  and  a  remarkable  man. 
He  has  died  lately  near  the  Saguenay  River.  John, 
the  principal  guide,  spoke  little  English  then,  but  a  good 
deal  of  evening  talk  went  on  concerning  the  interior 
and  I  came  into  quite  a  little  light  on  the  country  and 
people,  including  the  Naskapi  of  the  North,  besides  get- 
ting together  a  small  stock  of  Montagnais  words.  The 
trip  was  my  beginning  in  the  Indian  North. 

Our  falling  together  as  a  party,  the  two  Indians  and 
I,  was  a  chance  happening,  yet  if  only  from  events 
which  might  be  taken  as  in  sequence,  and  in  some  sort 
affecting  various  lives,  the  occurrence  might  well  have 
been  ordered  and  meant  to  be.  That  initial  trip  was 
favored  in  all  respects,  and  though  others  followed  in 
which  one  or  both  of  these  men  took  part,  up  many 


12  Labrador 

rivers  and  over  many  heights  of  land,  we  always  looked 
back  to  our  first  venture  together  as  in  a  light  of  its 
own.  In  a  sort  it  was  a  first  experience  for  us  all, 
white  and  Indian;  we  saw  with  the  same  eyes,  and 
passed  into  a  relation  which  none  of  us  had  expected. 
By  the  time  I  shifted  to  fresh  ground  in  the  far 
northeast,  and  again  needed  their  help,  both  men  had 
positions  as  guardians  of  club  territories,  and  I  did  not 
try  to  unsettle  them.  Some  vicissitudes  would  have 
been  spared  me  if  I  had,  and  as  the  world  has  gone 
with  them  their  fortunes  might  have  come  out  much 
the  same.  At  any  rate  this  narrative,  largely  that  of 
a  good  deal  of  half -solitary  wandering,  would  have  had 
a  different  face. 


WAITING  FOR  FISH 


HAULING  A  TRAP 


CHAPTER  II 

NEWFOUNDLAND 

The  Atlantic  Labrador,  Labrador  North,  begins  at 
the  Straits  of  Belle  Isle.  There  are  two  ways  to  get 
there,  one  by  Bay  of  Islands  on  the  west  side  of  New- 
foundland, the  other  by  St.  John's  on  the  east  side, 
and  either  of  these  points  of  approach  can  be  reached 
mainly  by  rail.  A  long  canoe,  however,  such  as  I 
took  in  1903,  is  an  awkward  piece  of  baggage  on  a 
broken  railroad  journey,  and  not  caring  to  stand  by 
at  day  and  night  junctions  to  keep  it  from  being  left, 
I  held  to  the  sea  route  throughout.  I  left  Boston  on 
the  Plant  Line  Olivette,  the  20th  of  June.  There  was 
a  change  at  Halifax  to  the  Red  Cross  Sylvia,  with  a 
day  or  two  of  waiting,  then  a  run  of  some  hours  to  St. 
John's,  and  the  rest  of  the  voyage  to  Cape  Harrigan, 
nearly  a  thousand  miles  as  one  goes,  fell  with  the  Labra- 
dor mailboat. 

I  had  it  in  mind  to  see  the  coast  at  least,  and  form 
an  idea  of  what  could  be  done  at  some  future  time  in 
the  way  of  a  trip  inland.  This  might  be  all  that  was 
practicable  on  a  first  random  visit.  But  what  I  was 
really  hoping  for  was  to  get  into  touch  with  Indians  of 
the  Northeast,  the  primitive  Naskapi  of  George  River. 

My  old  southern  slope  men  had  told  of  them,  with  a 
touch  of  the  superiority  those  with  white  blood  are  apt 
to  feel,  as  wild  and  unchanged.     Also  Low,  in  his  last 

13 


14  Labrador 

report,  had  mentioned  them;  according  to  him  they 
lived  about  the  large  Indian  House  Lake  on  the  upper 
George,  depended  almost  wholly  upon  the  caribou, 
rarely  visited  the  shore,  and  were  more  independent  of 
outside  resources  than  any  other  Indians  of  the  penin- 
sula. Some  of  them  came  to  a  grown-up  age  without 
ever  seeing  the  shores.  By  Low's  account  the  short, 
rapid  rivers  of  the  eastern  slope  were  unnavigable,  and 
the  Indians  came  out  to  the  Atlantic  only  in  winter,  a 
few  of  the  young  men  hauling  furs  on  long,  narrow 
sleds  and  hastening  back  with  the  few  articles  that  they 
cared  to  trade  for. 

Indian  House  Lake  itself  had  long  seemed  to  me  the 
most  promising  objective  for  a  summer  trip  in  the 
whole  peninsula.  It  was  unexplored,  being  indicated 
on  the  map  only  in  conjectural  dotted  lines.  It  was 
large,  fifty  or  sixty  miles  long  and  a  good  many  wide, 
and  aside  from  its  distinction  as  a  last  retreat  of  the 
primitive  hunter,  it  lay  in  the  heart  of  the  northeast 
range  of  the  barren-ground  caribou,  and  well  within 
the  borders  of  the  elsewhere  inaccessible  subarctic  bar- 
rens. Here  the  great  zone  of  the  barren  grounds, 
the  reindeer  north,  extending  from  the  Atlantic  to 
Behring  Straits,  can  be  reached  by  the  convenient 
Labrador  mailboat,  which  sails  fortnightly  from  St. 
John's;  and  the  step  from  ship  to  shore  places  one  on 
the  very  verge  of  the  little-known  plateau. 

For  a  good  many  years  previous  to  the  winter  of 
1903  it  had  appeared  to  me  likely  that  a  foot  trip  could 
be  made  from  the  coast  to  the  middle  George,  but  there 
seemed  no  way  to  be  sure  of  this  without  making  a 
visit  to  the  coast,  and  the  fact  that  the  Indians  found 
the  country  too  hard  for  summer  travel  gave  my  specu- 


Newfoundland  15 

lations  a  real  basis  of  doubt.  If,  early  in  1903,  I  had 
not  fallen  in  with  Dr.  Grenfell  in  Boston,  it  is  possible 
that  I  should  never  have  staked  anything  like  a  whole 
summer  vacation  on  the  doubtful  chance  of  getting  at 
the  Indians,  still  less  on  the  finding  worth  while  a 
mere  visit  to  the  coast  without  seeing  them.  But  to 
my  surprise  and  extreme  interest  Dr.  Grenfell  told  me 
that  he  had  seen  Naskapi  at  Davis  Inlet  in  summer, 
even  treating  some  of  them  professionally  ("  veterinary 
surgery  "  he  called  it,  not  being  able  to  talk  with  his 
patients)  and  he  insisted,  against  my  objections,  that 
they  had  some  habit  of  coming  out  in  summer,  though 
by  what  means  he  knew  not.  If  I  would  go  by  the 
mailboat  to  Fanny's  Harbor  at  Cape  Harrigan,  his 
friend,  Tom  Spracklin,  would  put  me  across  to  the 
Hudson's  Bay  post  in  Davis  Inlet.  This  was  enough ; 
as  summer  came  on  I  got  together  enough  of  an  outfit 
to  avoid  being  helpless  after  leaving  the  steamer,  and 
departed  for  St.  John's  in  time  to  get  the  first  mail- 
boat  of  the  season.  The  venture  was  only  a  recon- 
noissance,  I  had  no  safe  plans  beyond  getting  eyes  on 
the  coast. 

Halifax  —  quiet,  seafaring,  much  fortified  Halifax 
—  is  a  comfortable  place  to  wait.  The  old  red-coated 
British  garrison  is  gone,  much  regretted,  but  its  works 
remain.  The  modern  change  in  warfare  is  here  plain 
to  the  eye.  The  imposing  but  grass-grown  citadel  on 
the  hill,  enormously  costly  in  its  day,  is  out  of  the 
reckoning.  At  the  present  time  the  real  defense  lies 
with  certain  inconspicuous  moundy  places  far  down  the 
harbor,  with  few  or  no  guns  in  sight.  So  also  with  the 
defenses  of  Quebec  and  its  obsolete  citadel,  which  I 
have  been  told  cost  thirty  millions  sterling.     Yet  if, 


16  Labrador 

however,  as  an  officer  once  related,  it  saved  Canada  to 
the  flag,  the  account  may  have  balanced.  At  Hali- 
fax I  bought  an  old  relic  of  a  greenheart  salmon  rod, 
but  all  the  better  for  the  many  salmon  it  had  fought, 
for  three  dollars. 

While  we  of  the  Olivette  were  coming  down  on 
summer  seas  from  Boston,  the  Sylvia  from  New  York 
had  been  creeping  on  behind  us  in  heavy  weather. 
On  the  bridge,  when  she  came  in  at  last,  was  Leonidas 
Hubbard,  Jr.,  with  Mrs.  Hubbard,  George  Elson,  and 
Dillon  Wallace,  also  on  their  way  north.  I  had  known 
they  were  coming,  but  they  were  surprised  at  seeing 
me.  If  Mrs.  Hubbard,  pale  from  the  rough  passage, 
had  been  told  at  just  that  time  what  her  career  was  yet 
to  be  on  salt  and  fresh  water  she  would  doubtless  have 
been  very  unresponsive.  But  once  on  terra  firma  she 
forgot  the  past,  and  we  all  wandered  the  town  together 
while  cargo  matters  were  going  on. 

In  time  we  were  off,  our  two  Oldtown  canoes,  twin 
craft,  side  by  side  on  the  deckhouse.  They  were 
eighteen  feet  by  thirty-three  inches  by  twelve  inches 
deep.  Hubbard's  weighed  eighty  pounds,  mine  ninety- 
one.  The  unusual  weight  of  mine  gave  me  sore 
thoughts,  going  alone  as  I  was;  the  boat  had  been 
ordered  in  Boston  at  about  sixty-five  pounds,  and  came 
from  the  factory  too  late  to  be  changed. 

In  the  two  weeks  before  we  reached  Hamilton  Inlet 
we  talked  plans  to  rags,  discussing  at  times  whether  I 
should  join  the  others  on  their  Northwest  River  ven- 
ture. With  more  time  I  should  have  done  so.  I  feared 
that  they  would  even  have  to  winter  on  the  ice-bound 
coast,  as  indeed  they  did.  Their  chances  would  natur- 
ally have  been  better  if  I  had  gone  along,  if  only  be- 


THE  CAPE  RACE  COAST 


A  SMALL  BERG 


Newfoundland  17 

cause  a  second  canoe  would  have  given  more  room  for 
more  supplies.  As  to  going  with  them  for  merely  the 
first  of  their  trip,  which  was  discussed,  I  should  share 
only  the  heavy  up-hill  stage  of  the  journey  without  see- 
ing much  that  would  be  worth  while,  and  perhaps  have 
to  come  back  alone  over  long  portages  with  my  heavy 
canoe.  I  should  get  most  of  the  bad  and  little  of  the 
good.  The  lower  part  of  the  larger  Labrador  rivers 
is  usually  uninteresting,  while  the  first  heavy-loaded 
weeks  of  such  trips  with  their  frequent  portages  are  apt 
to  be  of  a  back-breaking  sort  and  only  justified  by  what 
follows  in  the  easier  waters  of  the  level  plateau  beyond. 
On  the  other  hand,  Hubbard  was  not  quite  willing  to 
go  on  with  me  to  the  northern  coast.  This  would  be 
risking  his  season's  opportunity  on  rather  poor  chances, 
uncertain  as  the  practicability  of  getting  into  the  in- 
terior from  that  side  appeared  then. 

For  more  than  a  day  from  Halifax  it  was  foggy,  and 
by  the  time  it  cleared  we  were  well  into  the  great  fish- 
ing waters  under  Newfoundland.  Here,  it  may  be 
said,  the  North  begins.  The  air  loses  its  sea  languor, 
the  water  looks  paler  and  colder;  the  craft  are  open  fish- 
ing boats,  the  seabirds  plainly  northern.  The  change 
of  latitude,  as  we  fared  toward  Cape  Race,  was  plain. 
Whether  it  was  the  many  boats  with  their  two  tanned 
sails  that  most  appealed  to  us  —  boats  of  fishermen 
sawing  endlessly  with  long  arms,  "  jigging  "  for  cod 
in  the  early  dawn  —  or  the  larger  strange  birds  that 
wheeled  about  or  skimmed  the  smooth  swell,  it  would 
be  hard  to  say.  Slanting  low  over  the  bow  flew  a 
large,  uncanny  bird,  with  no  head  or  eyes  distinguish- 
able, merely  a  sharpened  spindle  in  body, —  black,  or 
nearly  black  above,  white  below,    from  end  to  end. 


18  Labrador 

"  Two  wings  on  a  mackerel,"  sang  quick  Dr.  C,  who 
was  standing  with  us,  and  the  simile  was  fair.  It  may 
have  been  a  Greater  Shearwater.  Proper  birds,  such 
as  ducks  and  gulls,  have  necks  and  heads,  or  at  least 
eyes  and  a  visible  beak. 

The  cliffs  along  by  Cape  Race,  the  southeastern 
corner  of  Newfoundland,  are  not  very  imposing  from 
a  few  miles  away,  though  high  enough  when  near. 
Deep  water  comes  to  their  very  foot.  Before  the 
present  lighthouse  was  built  the  place  was  one  of  the 
dreaded  spots  of  the  sea,  with  a  sad  history  of  wrecks 
upon  its  uncompromising  shores.  The  great  ocean 
pathways  are  near.  Such  was  the  set  of  currents  at 
certain  junctures  of  wind  and  tide  that  in  time  of  storm 
and  darkness  a  passing  ship  was  carried  almost  certainly 
into  the  grip  of  that  iron-bound  lee.  No  skill  of  the 
mariner  availed;  lead  and  line  showed  no  shallowing, 
the  log  gave  no  reckoning  of  the  drift.  Without  warn- 
ing came  the  breakers  and  the  fateful  cliffs  —  by  many 
a  ghast  lookout  seen  all  to  late. 

In  the  placid  dawn  a  few  fragments  of  ice  floated 
wide  set  over  the  silver.  The  level  of  the  surface 
seemed  lifted  above  the  seas  we  had  left,  the  impres- 
sion of  high  latitude  was  remarkable.  We  were,  in 
fact,  in  arctic  water,  the  eddy  and  edge  of  the  polar 
stream.  The  sun  was  still  far  below  the  horizon  in  the 
northeast,  passing  imperceptibly  around ;  it  was  hard 
to  believe  that  it  would  ever  reach  the  sky  line. 

As  we  bore  around  the  land  there  opened  up,  three 
or  four  miles  away,  our  first  unmistakable  polar  ice. 
It  was  only  a  bluish,  irregular  boulder  of  one  or  two 
thousand  tons,  touched  by  the  east  light,  but  one  who 
grew  up  under  the  spell  of  Kane  and  Perry  and  Frank- 


Newfoundland  19 

lin  sees  with  almost  unbelieving  eyes  such  a  messenger 
from  the  real  Arctic.  We  were  come  upon  the  actual 
polar  world.  Where  this  worn  berg  first  yielded  to  the 
stream  the  north  star  was  high  to  the  zenith.  Men  in 
skins,  perhaps,  had  seen  it  slowly  pass;  the  wheeling 
burgomaster;  the  walrus  and  white  bear  on  the  mov- 
ing floes. 

Further  on,  a  fine  cleft  berg  appeared  close  to  east- 
ward, and  more  bergs  during  the  few  miles  to  St.  John's. 
The  greater  bergs  stood  near  the  narrow  entrance  to 
the  harbor,  a  grand  barricading  fleet.  This  entrance 
is  scarcely  distinguishable  from  outside.  When  I  asked 
Captain  Farrel  if  he  could  go  in  at  night  or  had  to 
wait  outside,  he  said  with  a  turn  of  the  thumb  toward 
the  tall  bergs  seaward,  •'  We  have  to  go  in !  Better 
than  to  bum  around  in  that  stuff!  "  So  it  might  be, 
but  it  looked  a  hard  choice. 

St.  John's  is  the  portal  of  the  north  Atlantic,  and 
lives  by  its  prey  from  the  sea.  Countless  cargoes  of 
cod  have  come  through  its  narrow  gate  since  Jacques 
Cartier,  in  1534,  found  the  Basque  ships  established 
there.  Countless  have  been  the  seals,  and  the  stream 
of  salmon  and  sea  trout  and  the  furs  and  skins  of  the 
North  has  never  stayed.  Now  the  sealing  is  not  done 
by  schooners  but  steam  sealers.  Small,  strong,  with 
sloping  bows  to  bear  down  the  ice,  they  lie  idle  from 
spring  to  spring,  bunched  in  twos,  threes,  and  fours 
along  the  east  side  of  the  harbor.  The  city  is  on  the 
west  side,  stepping  up  on  wide  slopes.  Its  buildings 
are  wooden,  to  an  extent,  and  not  old,  being  replace- 
ments after  the  great  fires  of  recent  times. 

Now  we  were  to  learn  something  of  the  way  of 
northern  mailboats,  the  way  of  steamers  in  ice-bearing 


20  Labrador 

seas.  The  Labrador  boat,  it  appeared,  might  be  back 
from  north  in  a  week,  or  she  might  not,  depending  on 
the  ice  —  not  the  weather,  but  the  ice.  At  Tilt  Cove, 
two  days  north,  she  would  be  reported  by  telegraph, 
we  would  be  notified  if  we  were  near.  We  need 
not  engage  staterooms  in  advance,  there  would  be 
room. 

There  was  nothing  for  it  but  to  go  fishing.  There 
seemed  not  very  much  else  to  do.  On  a  holiday  just 
then  eight  hundred  people  were  said  to  have  gone  out 
by  railroad  for  trout.  By  rail  we  went  to  Whitbourne, 
some  way  out,  then  down  the  Broad  Cove  branch  ten 
miles  as  best  we  could;  there  was  no  train  that  day. 
Mrs.  Hubbard  drove  with  the  luggage,  the  rest  walked. 
We  camped  at  Broad  Cove,  near  the  telegraph,  among 
many  shallow  ponds.  The  country  was  burnt  and  deso- 
late. Many  kinds  of  gulls  were  about,  with  little  obvi- 
ous occupation  but  to  excercise  their  remarkable 
breeding-time  vocabulary.  A  cackling  note  prevailed; 
almost  all  were  weird  or  discordant.  They  may  be 
love  notes,  but  — !  Early  one  morning  we  were  waked 
as  one  person  by  the  broken  squawks  of  some  large 
affair  that  flew  close  over.  Elson  was  sure  it  had  a 
very  bad  pain.  It  may  have  been  a  gannet,  if  they 
commit  such  disturbances.  These  cries,  over  the  deso- 
late region,  were  disquieting  to  the  ear,  a  little  as  of  the 
underworld,  and  according  too  well  with  the  rocky 
burnt  waste. 

The  streams  were  low  and  sea  trout  had  not  come  up. 
There  were  yellow-bellied  trout  in  the  ponds,  some- 
times with  black  parasitic  spots,  these  apparently  due  to 
the  low  state  of  the  ponds.  We  caught  fish  enough  for 
our  uses,  mostly  from  quarter  to  half  pounders,  or  less. 


Newfoundland  21 

They  were  what  the  St.  John  trouters  call  mud  trout, 
which  curiously  is  their  most  complimentary  term. 
"  They  were  real  mud  trout !  "  a  fisherman  would  say 
in  climax,  when  describing  his  catch.  In  truth  they 
were  the  best,  as  far  from  a  "  muddy  w  tasting  trout  as 
possible.  I  suspect  them  of  being  a  distinct  variety, 
these  yellow-bellied  trout  of  the  shallow,  black-bottomed 
ponds,  perhaps  the  Marston  trout. 

In  occasionally  high,  black -bottomed  ponds  in  north- 
ern New  Hampshire  and  Maine  occurs  the  striking 
phase  of  the  fontinalis  best  known  as  the  red-bellied 
trout.  In  Maine  it  appears  in  some  ponds  of  size 
and  depth.  Further  north  it  is  more  common  and  less 
restricted  to  special  waters.  In  Newfoundland  it  is 
almost  everywhere,  passing,  as  it  does  along  the  Straits 
of  Belle  Isle,  under  the  somewhat  unfortunate  name 
of  mud  trout.     It  grows  as  large  as  any  fontinalis. 

The  visible  marks  are  red  or  yellow  red  under- 
neath at  least  from  the  vent  back,  deep  compressed 
body,  brilliant  coloring  but  so  dark  on  the  back  as  to 
considerably  mask  the  vermiculations.  The  general 
color  scheme  of  the  fish  is  that  of  the  ordinary  phase 
at  spawning  time.  In  fish  of  a  half  to  one  or  two 
pounds  the  flesh  is  intensely  red,  more  so  than  any 
salmon.  When  two  fish  are  separated  aftert  being 
laid  together  for  a  little  this  red  color  shines  strongly 
through  the  skin. 

As  the  spawning  season  comes  on  the  coloration 
deepens  to  rich  old  mahogany,  such  as  I  have  seen  in 
wonderfully  deep  fish  on  headwaters  of  the  Peribonka. 
They  were  correspondingly  flatsided  and  narrow  when 
seen  from  above.  They  were  strange  to  see,  and 
haunting  to  this  day  in  their  rich  magnificence.     De- 


22  Labrador 

liberately  they  took  a  sunk  fly  in  still  black  eddies 
among  the  shore  rocks,  while  a  yard  or  two  away  in 
a  delirious  bubbling  rush  ouanananiche  were  taking 
the  same  fly  at  a  dart.  I  made  the  mistake  here  of 
saving  the  trout  rather  than  the  latter.  They  were 
not  very  good,  and  I  find  the  common  opinion  against 
them,  as  compared  with  other  trout,  when  caught  in 
the  spawning  season.  Earlier  they  are  the  better  of 
the  two. 

For  some  years  the  question  was  in  my  mind  whether 
this  trout  was  not  a  distinct  species,  not  so  much  from 
its  appearance  as  its  traits,  and  its  remarkable  food 
quality.  For  one  thing,  when  in  running  water,  as  it  is 
in  summer  its  size  is  eight  or  nine  inches  long,  and  it 
is  distinctly  a  nipper,  where  the  usual  trout  opens  its 
mouth  wide  to  the  fly.  One  casts  and  casts  with  not 
much  but  nips.  The  fly  seems  too  large  but  a  smaller 
one  does  no  better.  A  person  used  to  the  fish  could 
tell  with  his  eyes  shut  which  kind  of  trout  was  rising 
after  four  or  five  nips. 

The  extreme  opposite  of  the  red  phase  is  the  silvery 
trout  having  access  to  salt  water.  Near  tidewater 
on  Eskimo  the  latter  was  taking  a  surface  fly  with 
hard  rushes  in  current,  while  some  reds  were  taking 
in  their  own  way  in  the  still  part  of  the  pool  along- 
side. The  contrast  between  the  tearing,  never-giving- 
up  sea  trout  and  slow  under  water  takers  who  bored 
about  in  three  feet  of  water  like  a  namaycush,  and 
pulled  little,  was  striking. 

These  reds  were  about  thirteen  inches  long,  intensely 
red  meated  and  rich.  Northern  opinion  counts  this 
variety  the  best  of  their  trout.  All  in  all  the  list  of 
peculiarities  of  the  phase  is  pretty  complete,  it  is  a 


Newfoundland  23 

full  "  fisherman's  species/'  as  any  who  know  it  will 
testify. 

One  of  its  odd  ways  is  to  perch  indefinitely  on  a 
boulder,  propped  up  on  his  fore  fins  as  if  something 
was  the  matter  with  him.  Apparently  he  is  there  only 
to  keep  off  the  mud  bottom,  at  any  rate  a  bait  dropped 
through  a  hole  in  the  ice  is  taken  smartly  enough.  A 
snappy  way  is  characteristic  of  the  small  fish  when 
summering  in  running  water.  They  are  strong  little 
fighters  then,  and  have  wit  enough  to  turn  easily  shy 
after  a  few  have  been  caught. 

Specimens  sent  to  Garman  and  to  Kendall  at  dif- 
ferent times  made  the  fish  a  fontinalis,  and  the  return 
by  Agassiz  on  a  Maine  fish,  as  "  a  simon-pure  brook 
trout  "  almost  certainly  relates  to  the  present  fish.  It 
is  a  habit  phase.  To  theorize  a  little,  its  red  under- 
sides may  be  laid  to  its  bottom-feeding  habit.  Some 
other  bottom-feeding  trouts  have  the  same  mark,  while 
surface-feeders  in  the  same  water  have  not.  The  gen- 
eral dark  coloration  merely  harmonizes  with  its  pre- 
vailing background.  The  cause  of  the  peculiarly  in- 
tense red  of  its  flesh  is  not  so  obvious,  but  I  have  come 
to  associate  it  with  a  diet  of  bottom  organisms,  maybe 
Crustacea.  I  once  saw  one's  mode  of  feeding,  in  only 
a  foot  of  air-clear  water,  almost  certainly  on  its  usual 
food.  A  small  stick  six  or  eight  inches  long  and  the 
size  of  a  basket  willow,  slanted  from  the  bottom  to  a 
height  of  some  two  inches  above  it.  The  fish  began 
at  the  high  end,  tipped  himself  a  little  to  be  at  right 
angles  with  the  stick,  and  nibbled  conscientiously  the 
length  of  it  exactly  as  a  boy  would  nibble  along  a 
twig  of  birch.  This  was  his  ordinary  way,  one  would 
assume,  of  getting  his  living. 


24  Labrador 

Obviously  the  deep  shape,  with  trout  as  with  other 
creatures,  goes  with  a  comparatively  inactive  life,  in 
this  case  a  still-water  life  without  much  exercise  in 
chasing  prey;  and  the  flat  sides,  want  of  side-muscles 
and  correspondingly  weak  pulling  powers  point  to  the 
same  cause.  The  rest,  the  slow,  deep  taking  of  the 
fly,  the  laying  on  of  fat  and  the  stall-fed  delicacy  that 
is,  harmonize  with  the  usual  life  of  the  fish,  with  its 
relative  quiet  and  special  food. 

Whether  the  bottom  diet  concerned  requires  cold 
water  for  its  existence  I  do  not  know.  There  seems 
a  hint  in  the  increasing  abundance  of  lower  forms, 
plankton,  as  one  goes  from  warm  seas  to  the  Arctic. 
Or  it  may  be  that  shallow  home  ponds  have  the  trout 
food  but  are  too  warm  for  the  fish,  excepting  at  the 
high  elevations  where  we  find  it.  In  lower  Gulf  waters 
the  present  trout  comes  to  the  head  of  tide,  but  either 
loses  his  coloration  rapidly  when  there,  or  does  not 
often  go  farther. 

We  had  a  good  time  of  it.  The  Hubbards  had  a 
tent  on  one  side  of  the  railroad  bank  and  the  rest  of 
us  on  the  other.  Wre  scattered  about  the  different 
ponds.  Aside  from  the  gulls  there  was  nothing  un- 
usual in  the  way  of  wild  life.  Some  geese  bred  in  the 
region,  Wallace  saw  an  otter,  and  there  were  loons,  also 
beaver  —  somewhere.  In  a  few  days  a  message  came 
from  the  Reid  Company,  and  the  party  divided,  some 
for  Harbor  Grace,  which  was  very  near,  the  others  to 
see  the  baggage  aboard  at  St.  John's. 

We  were  off  toward  night  July  2  or  3,  with  fog,  but 
made  Harbor  Grace  in  two  or  three  hours,  where  many 
passengers  came  on.  In  the  cabin,  with  five  staterooms 
and  a   small  ladies'    saloon,   there  were  twenty- four 


Newfoundland  25 

persons,  and  we  now  had  light  on  the  steamer's  infor- 
mation bureau.  What  we  had  heard  was  obviously 
true;  there  was  no  need  of  engaging  staterooms,  for 
no  more  than  a  berth  apiece  could  possibly  be  held  in 
the  pressure  of  such  numbers,  and  we  did  get  the  berth. 
It  would  have  been  a  hardy  individual  who  would  have 
attempted  to  play  dog  in  the  manger  with  a  whole  state- 
room. There  was  of  course  a  good  deal  of  camping 
about  in  chance  places,  and  small  ventilation. 

For  days  it  was  foggy  and  little  above  freezing,  with 
a  sea  and  growing  wind  from  northeast.  There  was 
no  place  to  be  warm.  On  deck  the  vicious  air  went 
to  my  bones,  and  below  it  was  chilly  too,  with  bad  air. 
The  Newfoundlanders  took  it  well,  standing  uncon- 
cerned about  the  open  deck  by  the  hour  while  I  was 
seeking  the  sheltered  places  and  was  never  comfortable. 
It  was  a  bit  mortifying  to  find  myself  so  distinctly 
inferior,  though  these  people  were  younger  and  seemed 
an  unusually  burly  lot.  But  after  a  day  or  two,  happen- 
ing to  observe  how  one  of  my  stateroom  mates  was 
dressed,  I  saw  a  light.  Getting  to  my  kit  I  put  on  all 
the  clothes  I  had  along,  beginning  with  two  good  suits 
of  winter  underclothes  and  ending  with  the  usual  over- 
coat. Coming  on  deck,  burly  with  the  rest,  I  shivered 
no  more. 

Not  many  gulls  appeared,  but  beds  of  shearwaters, 
locally  "  hagdowns,"  and  other  kinds,  stretched  along 
on  both  sides  at  times,  and  single  birds  skimmed  the 
waves  rapidly  with  their  pointed  wings.  They  are 
never  seen  on  land  here,  though  their  season  on  the 
coast  is  the  natural  breeding  time  of  all  the  other  sea- 
birds.  It  used  to  be  thought  here  that  they  managed 
to  lay  their  eggs  on  the  water,  as  swallows  have  been 


26  Labrador 

thought  to  winter  in  the  mud  at  home.  Their  breeding 
place  is  now  known  to  be  in  the  far  Antarctic.  They 
are  sea  travelers  indeed. 

Ice  was  visible  at  all  times,  save  in  close  fog.  The 
navigation  in  such  weather  involved  much  more  than 
familiarity  with  the  coast,  and  the  working  from  port 
to  port  up  the  coast,  in  and  out  and  away  in  the  fog 
and  moving  ice  and  at  times  among  islands  and  shoals, 
was  an  inspiring  feat  to  see.  The  voyage  requires  a 
native  seamanship  beyond  all  taught  navigation. 
Eighteen  feet  the  steamer  drew.  There  are  not  many 
men  who  could  take  a  deep  craft  the  thousand  miles 
north  and  back,  with  fifty  stops  each  way,  often  in 
tight  little  harbors,  and  not  take  bottom  somewhere 
along  the  way.  Beyond  the  Straits  of  Belle  Isle  the 
charts  are  of  little  use;  beyond  Hamilton  Inlet  there  is 
practically  no  chart.  Even  if  there  were,  the  innumer- 
able passages  would  be  confusing  in  fog,  and  the  mov- 
ing ice  islands  of  the  open  deeps  are  beyond  all  chart- 
ing. The  weather  may  be  foggy  a  third  of  the  time, 
as  average  runs  go.  Sometimes  the  tide  currents  foil 
the  log,  then  the  vessel  creeps  and  the  lead  is  used. 
Perhaps  the  anchor  goes  down.  Or  a  blast  of  the 
whistle  may  bring  an  echo  from  some  known  cliff,  far 
or  near,  and  the  place  of  the  ship  located.  Sometimes 
the  short  blast  comes  back  instantly,  R-r-rhatt !  like  an 
angry  blow,  from  the  face  of  a  berg  just  beyond  sight 
in  the  fog,  and  the  screw  reverses.  In  a  dense,  brilliant 
fog,  lying  low,  the  blue  sky  may  appear  overhead  for 
hours.  Nothing  of  that  year's  trip  was  better  worth 
while  to  me  than  seeing  Captain  Parsons  take  his  ship 
north  and  back  again,  good  weather  and  bad.  Trip 
after  trip  he  does  it,  year  after  year. 


Newfoundland  27 

The  old  Virginia  Lake  was  a  sealer,  not  comfortable 
and  not  very  clean.  She  was  lost  in  the  spring  sealing 
of  1908,  crushed  by  the  ice.  Now  the  larger  Inver- 
more,  with  her  luxury  of  cleanness  and  space,  has  taken 
her  place,  and  one  travels  more  comfortably  now  than 
from  Boston  to  Halifax.  The  old  boat  was  apt  to  be 
inhumanly  crowded  at  times,  with  no  reckoning  of  the 
impossible  second  cabin.  Four  persons  in  a  very  small 
stateroom  was  the  rule,  generally  with  the  port  closed! 

Tilt  Cove  was  the  last  of  our  five  or  six  stops- on  the 
island,  then  with  thick  weather  and  a  strong  'sea  the 
captain  headed  wide  to  the  northeast  for  many  hours, 
past  the  straits,  finally  turning  west  to  feel  for  the  main- 
land. Toward  night  a  long  liner  or  cattleboat  slipped 
across  our  bows,  ghostly  in  the  mist,  and  it  was  re- 
marked that  we  were  off  the  straits,  for  the  stranger 
must  be  making  for  them.  The  passengers  were 
largely  skippers,  going  to  their  fishing  stations.  Al- 
though they  were  all  familiar  with  the  coast  and  could 
take  a  schooner  almost  anywhere  upon  it,  none  of 
them  paid  any  attention  to  the  log  over  the  stern  or 
noted  the  courses.  It  was  not  expected  of  them.  I 
had  been  doing  this  very  thing,  thoughtlessly,  going 
often  to  the  log  with  my  pocket  compass,  but  I  became 
conscious  from  the  reserve  of  the  skippers  that  it  was 
a  breach  of  etiquette;  Parsons  winced  a  little  at  first, 
but  in  such  matters  he  was  as  easy  a  man  as  ever 
walked  a  bridge.  In  the  end  he  offered  me  his  charts, 
and  I  got  a  living  idea  of  the  way  his  game  —  surely 
a  man's  game  —  was  played. 

We  overreached  to  the  north  a  little,  as  was  meant 
to  be,  and  the  guesses  of  the  skippers  when  we  came 
upon  the  high  Labrador  shore  were  mostly  for  Spear 


28  Labrador 

Harbor,  a  little  north  of  Battle  Harbor,  and  as  I  re- 
member they  were  right,  even  in  the  fog.  Battle  was 
not  far  back  . 

Here  Mrs.  Hubbard  left,  to  return  south  alone.  The 
voyage  in  the  small  uneasy  steamer  had  left  her  weak, 
and  the  desolation  of  the  place,  doubly  forbidding  in 
the  gloomy  northeaster,  confirmed  her  depression  at 
the  parting  with  her  husband.  If  this  were  the  nearer 
Labrador,  what  would  it  be  nearly  a  thousand  miles 
farther  north?  Whether  this  was  her  thought  it  was 
almost  an  inevitable  one ;  it  is  certain  that  at  the  part- 
ing she  expected  never  to  see  her  husband's  face  again. 
They  had  been  married  only  a  year  or  two.  In  the 
months  following  she  was  hopeful,  if  not  confident, 
but  in  the  end  the  premonition  of  that  evening  at  Battle 
was  fulfilled. 


CHAPTER  III 

THE    ATLANTIC    COAST 

Battle  Harbor  seems  to  have  been  named  from  the 
Portugeuse  Batales,  boats.  From  there  to  Hamilton 
Inlet,  some  hundred  and  fifty  miles,  are  dozens  of  fish- 
ing stations.  Among  them  the  mailboat  follows  the 
winding  passages  with  little  outlook  to  the  open  sea. 
Wonderful  are  the  deep,  shut-in  harbors,  such  as  Punch- 
bowl and  Square  Harbor;  not  merely  sheltered,  but 
shut  in  by  steep,  rugged  hills.  There  are  no  wharves 
anywhere ;  the  ship's  boat  goes  ashore  and  shore  boats 
come  alongside,  these  chiefly  to  see  the  doctor.  Few 
come  when  fish  are  plenty;  there  is  no  time  for  ailing 
then,  but  when  there  are  no  fish  the  doctoring  takes 
long,  it  seems  as  if  the  steamer  would  never  get  away. 
Dr.  Boyle  turned  none  away,  nor  hurried;  day  and 
night  he  was  rowed  to  shore  cases  whenever  called, 
sometimes  a  distance  of  miles.  Bad  teeth  were  com- 
mon; many  with  tied-up,  swollen  faces  came  aboard, 
sometimes  to  roar  most  lustily  under  the  forceps. 

Some  of  the  crews  of  young  men  pulling  about  the 

harbors  or  coming  in  low  with  fish  from  the  cod  traps 

were  not  only  handsomely  built  and  of  great  rowing 

power  but  had  a  spring  and  reach  which  I  had  come 

never  to  expect  in  sea  rowing.     I  believe  that  a  crew 

could  be   found  here  which  with  proper  shaping  up 

29 


30  Labrador 

would  win  all  races.  They  might  go  through  a  good 
deal  of  rowing  gear  at  first. 

At  that  time  the  best  of  the  employed  people  about 
the  fishing,  perhaps  even  the  sharemen,  found  no  fault 
if  their  season's  work  returned  them  $100  all  told. 
This  was  all,  there  was  no  winter  work  excepting  odd 
jobs  about,  getting  wood  and  the  like,  with  a  little  net- 
making  or  boatbuilding  which  ordinarily  brought  no 
cash.  Some  men  went  to  the  mainland  mines,  how- 
ever, by  the  railroad.  Latterly  such  resources,  other 
than  fishing,  have  increased,  and  with  winter  work  a 
successful  man  may  have  an  income  of  $200.  With 
comparative  prosperity  the  old  unfortunate  credit 
system  began  to  decline,  and  the  efforts  of  Dr.  Grenfell 
on  the  coasts  about  the  straits  have  hastened  the  same 
economic  end.  During  the  period  from  1903  to  1909 
many  small  schooners  were  built  by  fishermen  formerly 
on  wages,  the  price  of  fish  being  high,  and  many  did 
extremely  well,  as  things  go  in  the  island. 

From  Battle  Harbor  to  Port  Manvers,  more  than 
five  hundred  miles,  almost  all  the  coast  is  masked  by 
islands  which  extend  out  from  five  to  twenty  miles  in 
something  like  an  archipelago.  The  "  runs  "  and  pas- 
sages are  "  drowned  valleys,"  formerly  with  running 
streams  in  them,  for  the  coast  was  once  higher  than 
now.  Generally  the  passages  are  deep,  the  water  line 
being  well  up  on  the  slopes  of  the  former  hillsides. 
These  slopes  of  the  present  shores  can  generally  be 
trusted  to  continue  on  down  some  way  without  change, 
and  schooners  bear  on  sail  in  unknown  waters  with  a 
freedom  astonishing  to  a  stranger.  Seventy  or  eighty 
feet  of  water  is  common  in  the  harbors.  Outside  the 
islands  the  water  may  be  shallower,  the  debris  carried 


The  Atlantic  Coast  31 

out  by  the  former  glaciers  from  the  inland  ice-cap 
having  levelled  up  the  outer  valleys. 

Coming  from  south  the  islands  north  of  Battle  look 
barren  enough,  but  have  after  all  a  certain  greenness, 
and  even  small  trees  and  bushes  in  sheltered  places. 
They  are  gardenlike  in  comparison  with  the  gray  rock 
hills  farther  north.  Inland  there  is  a  good  deal  of 
forest.  As  we  passed  across  some  open  bay  a  vista 
would  open  showing  most  invitingly  the  mountains  and 
valleys  of  the  inland  country.  Hubbard  and  I,  much 
together,  looked  with  lingering  eyes  upon  the  far 
sparsely  forested  hills.  They  were  inviting  hills  to  the 
feet,  and  save  the  fur  hunters  of  the  bays  in  winter  no 
white  man  had  traveled  there.  To  our  eyes  it  was  the 
very  unexplored  land  of  our  dreams.  Again  and  again 
we  said:  "If  we  were  only  there!  If  we  were  only 
there,  on  those  hills !  " 

At  Indian  Harbor  we  parted  for  the  last  time. 
The  tragedy  of  the  expedition  is  history  now  and  needs 
no  telling.  A  good  deal  of  undue  criticism  has  de- 
scended upon  the  means  and  doings  of  the  party. 
They  meant  to  ascend  the  large  Northwest  or  Nas- 
caupee  River,  which  discharges  into  Grand  Lake  at  a 
distance  of  about  two  hundred  miles  from  Indian 
Harbor,  but  missed  it  and  took  a  smaller  stream. 
They  were  traveling  on  the  other  side  of  the  lake  from 
Northwest  River,  the  mouth  of  which  is  masked  by 
an  island,  and  as  they  had  been  told  by  local  people 
that  it  was  "  at  the  end  of  the  lake,"  they  kept  on 
accordingly  and  went  up  the  lesser  river  which  flows  in 
at  the  end. 

The  mistake  of  itself  by  no  means  involved  disaster 
to  life;  in  truth  the  water  dangers,  at  least,  of  the  large 


32  Labrador 

violent  river  they  meant  to  ascend,  would  have  been 
greater  than  in  the  streams  they  followed.  They  had 
a  gill  net,  the  most  effective  means  of  support  in  such 
a  region,  but  it  was  somewhat  worn  and  soon  went  to 
pieces.  As  to  the  outfit  generally,  I  would  willingly 
enter  upon  the  same  venture  with  what  they  had,  but 
it  would  be  necessary  to  have  a  good  game  year  to  get 
through  to  Ungava.  The  alternative  would  be  re- 
treat. The  party  happened  upon  a  bad  game  year, 
and  were  overtaken  by  early  cold  weather  in  a  district 
where  native  Indians  have  starved  under  similiar  cir- 
cumstances. It  is  to  be  noted  that  winter  is  the  only 
starvation  time  in  Labrador.  They  might  well  have 
turned  back  a  little  earlier  than  they  did,  but  the  main 
cause  of  disaster  was  their  being  wind  bound  for 
nearly  two  weeks  while  the  running  water  behind 
them  was  becoming  too  cold  for  trout,  which  had  left 
the  riffles  by  the  time  they  were  on  the  home  road. 
Starvation  followed.  Their  "  Windbound  Lake  "  was 
not  large,  and  fate  alone  could  have  brought  about  so 
unfortunate  a  happening  as  their  being  held  there  such 
a  length  of  time.  Not  in  a  hundred  seasons,  it  may 
be  thought,  would  the  same  thing  happen  again.  In 
lesser  sort  a  certain  ill  fortune  followed  the  party 
almost  throughout,  whatever  their  skill  and  judgment, 
as  when  one  has  bad  cards  through  an  evening  though 
the  mathematical  chances  may  be  a  thousand  to  one 
against  it.  Small  expeditions  into  uninhabited  regions 
of  this  sort  can  only  be  entered  upon  on  certain  assump- 
tions, chief  of  which  are  that  no  one  is  to  be  ill,  no  one 
is  to  have  a  serious  accident,  and  on  the  whole  good 
luck  is  to  attend  —  better  than  average.  Bad  luck, 
especially     if     recurring,     is     inadmissible.     Suppose 


WALLACE,   HUBBARD,   AND   ELSON 


UNDERCUT  ICE,  FANNY'S  HARBOR,   JULY   22 


The  Atlantic  Coast  33 

George  Elson  had  turned  his  ankle  fifty  miles  out 
from  Grand  Lake  on  the  return,  or  his  lumbago  had 
laid  him  out  for  a  week  —  the  whole  party  would  have 
perished,  almost  surely.  Suppose  Carey  and  Cole, 
whose  boat  was  burned  two  hundred  and  fifty  miles 
up  the  Hamilton,  had  disabled  an  ankle.  Suppose  they 
had  had  any  approach  to  a  run  of  bad  luck  after  the 
boat  was  lost.  On  the  other  hand,  suppose  that  the 
Hubbard  party  had  happened  to  turn  back  a  few  hours 
before  they  did,  before  the  wind  came  up  —  which 
might  just  as  well  have  been  —  they  would  all  have 
come  out  at  Grand  Lake  laughing,  though  with  an 
appetite  for  something  besides  trout.  In  the  matter 
of  criticism  let  him  who  has  lived  as  long  as  Hubbard 
did  on  a  desolate  country,  who  has  kept  as  high  spirit, 
cast  the  first  stone!  Most  of  us  minor  wanderers 
who  have  been  many  times  out  have  to  thank  fortune 
rather  than  our  wits  that  some  un  forgotten  day  or 
night  was  not  our  last. 

At  Indian  Harbor  is  Dr.  Grenfell's  northernmost 
hospital,  kept  open  only  in  summer.  His  work  is 
appreciated  by  the  fishermen,  however  his  co-opera- 
tive stores  are  viewed  by  the  traders.  He  represents 
the  modern  humanities  on  a  coast  where  before  they 
were  peculiarly  lacking.  The  medical  side  on  the  coast 
now,  what  with  the  strong  staff  of  Dr.  Grenfell,  the 
regular  doctor  of  the  mailboat,  and  the  year-round 
Moravians  in  the  north,  is  fairly  in  hand. 

At  Indian  Harbor  and  about  the  outer  Hamilton 
Inlet  generally  is  a  striking  display  of  black,  eruptive 
rock  which  has  forced  its  way  up  through  fissures  in 
the  whitish  granite.  The  mainland  has  risen  and 
settled  in  its  long  history,  apparently  with  the  going 


34  Labrador 

and  coming  of  its  ice-cap  overload,  not  to  reckon  in 
its  immense  losses  of  rock  material,  these  largely 
gained  by  the  adjacent  sea  floor. 

In  places  the  raised  sea  beaches  are  as  much  as  three 
to  four  hundred  feet  above  tide,  yet  the  bottoms  of 
the  present  drowned  valleys  are  well  below  water. 
The  fissures  which  have  opened  along  the  coastal  line 
of  weakness  are  visible  from  Belle  Isle  to  at  least  five 
hundred  miles  north.  The  older  ones  are  filled  level 
with  black  trap,  planed  even  with  the  granite  by  glacial 
wear.  For  miles,  in  places,  the  black  bands  may  be 
seen  stretching  across  the  naked  rock  hills.  The  larger 
ones  are  apt  to  be  weathered  a  little  below  the  bare 
country  rock,  and  the  universal  fertility  of  weathered 
lavas  is  shown  by  the  firm  green  moss  which  carpets 
the  sunken  strip,  as  does  grass  an  old  road.  Where 
the  fissure  crosses  a  hill  crest  a  square  notch  may  appear 
on  the  sky  line,  cut  down  ten  or  twenty  feet  or  forty 
feet  wide. 

The  old  trap  seams  were  filled  with  the  molten  up- 
flow  at  a  time  when  the  present  level  was  blanketed  by 
a  great  thickness  of  rock  measures  now  -ground  away. 
The  later  movements,  for  everything  is  still  in  motion, 
are  accompanied  by  the  opening  of  "  dry  '■'  seams, 
without  the  eruptive  trap.  So  fresh  and  clean  are  the 
irregular  walls  of  some  of  these  newer  fissures  that 
one  wonders  if  they  have  not  moved  a  little  over  night. 
Occasionally  the  movement  reopens  an  old  trap  seam, 
the  black  trap  either  sticking  to  one  side  or  being  wholly 
loose  in  blocks.  Inland  there  is  no  sign  of  these  fis- 
sures ;  there  the  country  rock  is  solid. 

The  mailboat  visits  Rigolet,  some  hours  up  the  Inlet, 
either  going  north  or  coming  south.     From  the  Hud- 


The  Atlantic  Coast  35 

son's  Bay  Company  post  there,  the  Mealy  Mountains 
rise  imposing  in  the  southwest,  looking  fully  two 
thousand  feet  high.  The  inland  climate  is  warm  in 
summer  and  there  is  a  fair  show  of  light  spruce  on 
the  hills  west.  Among  the  trees,  especially  on  high 
slopes,  the  caribou  moss  gives  a  distinct  whitish  ap- 
pearance to  the  ground.  The  unattractive  adjective 
"  mealy "  doubtless  came  from  this  appearance,  but 
the  fine  ranges  deserve  a  more  sounding  name.  Their 
Indian  name  also  means  whitish. 

From  Hamilton  Inlet  north  the  shores  are  distinctly 
more  desolate,  but  the  water  spaces  among  the  islands 
are  wider,  and  fine  bays  stretch  away  to  the  rivers  of 
the  mainland,  where  snow-streaked  mountains  appear 
somewhat  back  from  the  coast.  Sometimes  those 
mountains  show  fresh  snow  in  midsummer,  as  in 
1908,  when  the  ranges  north  of  Hamilton  were  daz- 
zling white. 

Beyond  Hamilton  the  fishing  stations  are  fewer; 
and  with  the  rising  hills  of  Mokkovik  and  Aillik  comes 
the  Moravian  Mission  field  and  its  sparse  Eskimo  popu- 
lation. All  along  from  the  Straits  the  bay  people  who 
came  aboard  showed  traces  of  Eskimo  descent.  Every- 
where was  a  little  of  the  blood,  showing  plainer  to  the 
north,  as  the  days  passed,  until  at  the  missions  there 
appeared  a  good  portion  of  the  unmixed  race.  Hope- 
dale,  a  little  north  of  Mokkovik,  is  one  of  the  older 
stations,  begun  more  than  one  hundred  and  forty  years 
ago. 

Almost  immemorial  now  to  this  strong  breed  of 
the  shore  is  the  devoted  paternal  hand  which  has  saved 
them  so  long  from  extinction  as  a  race.  The  work  is 
less  known  and  appreciated  than  it  deserves.     If  mis- 


36  Labrador 

sionaries  anywhere  are  entitled  to  the  crown  of  achive- 
ment  in  an  obscure  and  desolate  region  it  is  these. 
Their  families,  as  an  example  of  peaceful  living,  dwell 
under  the  same  roof  at  each  of  the  stations,  a  test  of 
the  human  relation  which  if  only  in  the  absence  of 
outside  diversions  involves  rare  qualities.  The  house- 
hold work  is  relieved  by  Eskimo  servants,  but  the  cook- 
ing not  so.  The  way  of  Eskimo  women  is  not  the 
way  of  fastidious  housewives,  and  save  for  some  re- 
course to  the  white  daughters  of  the  bays  the  more 
intimate  work  of  the  household  is  done  by  the  wives 
of  the  missionaries  themselves. 

Such  peoples  as  the  Eskimo  are  ever  children  in  the 
presence  of  advanced  races.  They  are  to  be  led  when 
they  can  be  led,  restrained  by  a  firm  hand  when  for 
their  good;  it  is  for  the  worse  that  the  means  to  this 
end  are  rarely  ample.  The  influences  of  summer 
traders  and  of  fishermen,  who  are  generally  traders 
too,  must  bring  vexation  to  the  Moravian  path.  Their 
chief  support  comes  from  England,  where  is  the  head 
of  the  order.  A  store  is  kept  at  each  mission,  but  the 
mission  proper  receives  nothing  from  it.  The  uncom- 
mercial nature  of  even  the  trading  part  of  the  establish- 
ment is  shown  by  the  fact  that  the  balance  for  the  year 
is  usually  a  loss,  to  be  made  up  by  contributions  from 
abroad.  A  set  price  is  paid  for  fish;  if  the  market 
falls  below  it  the  mission  loses,  and  vice  versa,  but  the 
people  are  saved  uncertainty. 

The  season  was  rather  an  early  one,  but  snow  in 
streaks  and  broad  patches  showed  frequently  along 
the  slopes  through  July.  Pieces  of  shore  ice  drifted 
aground  with  wind  and  tide,  and  about  sea  and  shore 
were  fragments  of   fresh-water  ice  from  bergs.     To 


The  Atlantic  Coast  37 

our  unwonted  eyes  the  luminous  turquoise  and  azure 
of  the  thinner  forms  and  underwashed  caves  were  of 
almost  startling  beauty.  One  must  see  to  realize. 
Occasional  massive  bergs  were  grounded  along  the 
coast  wherever  the  water  was  deep  enough  to  let  them 
in.  Seven-eighths  of  their  mass  is  under  water.  They 
are  apt  to  have  long  projections,  underwater  capes  or 
tables  that  cannot  be  seen  in  windy  weather,  and  the 
steamer  keeps  well  clear.  It  is  told  once  a  steamer 
was  caught  amidships  by  a  rising  tongue  of  ice,  as  a 
berg  turned  partly  over,  and  raised  bodily  out  of  water. 
By  one  of  those  touches  of  luck  that  ice  navigators 
have  to  have  she  tilted  forward,  slid  off,  and  was  able 
to  go  along.  Summer  bergs  are  rather  well  avoided. 
A  captain  would  lose  his  rating  if  he  went  near  a 
summer  berg  unnecessarily  and  anything  happened. 
Parsons  is  careful  about  them;  it  is  fairly  safe  to  say 
he  will  never  lose  his  rating,  at  least  in  that  way. 

The  bergs  are  dazzling  in  the  sunshine.  In  a  photo- 
graph, when  taken  near,  water  and  sky  are  apt  to  come 
out  almost  black  by  contrast.  One  can  scarcely  give 
them  little  enough  time.  As  the  summer  goes  on  they 
become  opaque,  dead  white,  in  dull  days,  but  a  stab 
of  the  oar  brings  up  on  hard  blue  ice  at  the  very  sur- 
face. As  they  waste  or  lose  fragments  they  change 
level,  perhaps  turn  over,  and  the  smooth,  wave-washed 
band  and  groove  of  their  old  water  line  appears  slant- 
ing at  one  angle  or  another  with  the  water.  One  side 
of  the  berg,  revolved  up  from  long  submergence  in  the 
warming  sea,  may  be  rounded  and  smooth,  with  many 
clear,  blue  veins ;  these  are  regelated  fissures  opened  in 
its  progress  down  the  uneven  Greenland  valleys.  An- 
other face,  lately  rifted,  may  be  of  sharp  crystalline 


38  Labrador 

fracture,  texture  such  as  only  living  crystals  have. 
Indeed  the  bergs  are  gigantic  crystalline  masses,  pure 
elemental  separations,  the  like  of  which  neither  land 
nor  sea  has  to  show  in  any  other  form. 

Although,  when  close  by,  the  tall  walls  and  pinnacles 
of  ice  running  up  one  or  two  hundred  feet  are  wonder- 
fully imposing,  the  ice  is  most  beautiful' — and  at 
times  the  tall  ice  comes  near  to  being  very  beauty  itself 
—  when  distance  heightens  the  shadows  and  gives  effect 
to  its  shape.  Some  bergs  appear  fragments  of  ele- 
mental structures,  at  least  their  squared  blocks;  in 
some  lingers  the  greater  design,  foundation,  plinth, 
and  shaft,  and,  indeed  a  little  aslant,  the  icicled  cornice. 
Man's  architecture  in  all  its  forms  is  hinted  at,  and 
often  the  forms  of  living  creatures,  natural  or  gro- 
tesque, but  the  spirit  of  the  ice  is  mainly  architectural: 
the  gods  of  the  north  had  their  temples,  and  these  are 
their  fragments.     The  bergs  are  nature's  Greek  phase. 

Yet,  ice  and  all,  the  question  whether  Labrador  is 
not  the  safest  rock  coast  in  the  world  to  navigate  is 
worth  mentioning.  This  is  not  merely  from  its  in- 
numerable shelter  places  and  deep  channels,  ground 
out  smooth  by  glaciers,  but  also  in  summer,  from  its 
usually  moderate  winds  and  smooth  sea.  A  really 
heavy  sea  I  have  never  observed  north  of  Belle  Isle, 
not  such  as  one  sees  on  home  coasts.  In  this  is  com- 
pensation for  having  ice  about,  for  bergs  do  a  good  deal 
toward  breaking  up  the  ocean  swell.  Although  there 
may  not  be  more  than  four  or  five  bergs  in  sight  at 
one  time,  from  the  steamer  run,  the  polar  stream  is 
from  one  to  two  hundred  miles  wide,  and  somewhere, 
beyond  sight,  there  are  more  and  larger  ones.  The 
tops  of  some  of  them  look  to  be  a  half  mile  long, — 


The  Atlantic  Coast  39 

majestic,  slow-moving  islands,  showing  just  above  the 
horizon.     It  is  small  ice  that  can  come  near  the  shore. 

What  are  the  places,  what  the  granite  ways,  where 
such  great  masses  may  be  launched  without  breaking, 
may  well  be  wondered.  No  matter  how  even  are  the 
slopes,  the  outer  edge  of  the  ice  would  naturally  tend 
to  float  up,  with  tremendous  force,  as  it  became  sub- 
merged. Upon  all  the  glacial  frontage  of  the  long 
Greenland  coast  there  must  be  few  places  where  the 
greater  ice  islands  can  take  the  sea  whole.  Some  one 
remarkable  conjunction  of  slopes  may  yet  appear  where 
the  thing  can  happen,  the  more  reasonably  that  such 
bergs  are  not  common.  Yet,  after  all,  the  structural 
resistance  of  such  bergs  is  not  to  be  underrated.  If 
floating  two  or  three  hundred  feet  above  water  their 
total  height  would  be  near  two  thousand  feet,  and  their 
cross  section  nearly  square.  The  great  tables  of  the 
Antarctic,  larger  than  any  of  the  north,  launch  them- 
selves successfully  in  great  numbers.  Such  marvelous 
debouchements  into  deep  water  as  prevail  in  Greenland 
occur  nowhere  else  in  the  northern  hemisphere.  The 
great  Alaskan  glaciers  discharge  into  shallow  water 
on  the  submerged  continental  shelf.  There  is  no  tall 
ice  on  that  coast. 

With  all  the  thousands  of  schooners  that  visit  the 
coast,  and  many  larger  craft,  life  is  seldom  lost  by 
drowning.  For  one  thing,  so  favorable  are  the  slopes 
that  a  craft  is  likely  to  drive  actually  ashore  and  permit 
one  to  get  out.  Some  schooners,  are  wrecked,  they 
are  mostly  soft  wood  affairs,  but  I  am  not  sure  that  a 
summer  wreck  has  brought  a  drowning  since  I  have 
been  on  the  coast. 

Long  periods  of  calm  prevail,  more  especially  in  the 


40  Labrador 

north.  The  fishermen  tell  of  glassy  days  at  Mugford 
and  north  which  run  on  until  they  lose  time,  becalmed, 
which  they  can  ill  afford.  Of  course  the  open  sea  is 
never  quite  flat,  for  unless  in  strong  land  winds  there 
is  always  some  heave. 

When  blows  come  on,  as  they  do,  it  is  not  an  un- 
common thing  for  a  crew  to  put  out  all  the  ground 
tackle  available  and  get  ashore,  especially  when  the 
alternative  is  lying  in  a  harbor  with  other  schooners 
to  windward.  These,  of  course,  may  drag  and  smash 
their  way  through  the  fleet.  This  practice  of  abandon- 
ment has  a  doubtful  look  at  first;  certainly  it  is  not 
sticking  to  one's  ship.  It  must  be  a  curious  sight  to 
see  twenty  or  thirty  schooners  tossing  to  the  wind, 
deserted,  and  the  crews  scattered  among  the  shacks  on 
shore  hugging  the  fire.  But  it  is  not  timidity.  When 
there  is  anything  better  to  be  done  they  do  it,  and  they 
know. 

They  know  the  sea,  and  whatever  can  be  done  upon 
it  they  do  as  few  can.  I  have  not  sailed  much  with 
them,  but  something  of  the  ordinary  day's  doings  of  the 
fishing  schooners  came  to  me  during  a  little  run  in  1907. 
I  wanted  to  get  from  Hopedale  to  Davis  Inlet,  some 
sixty  miles,  and  after  a  good  deal  of  visiting  about 
such  craft  as  were  in  the  harbor  I  got  Captain  Eliot, 
of  Twillingate,  to  take  me  as  far  on  my  way  as  he 
might  happen  to  go.  His  schooner  was  the  Cambria. 
He  would  not  bind  himself  further,  for  he  was  look- 
ing for  fish,  and  his  whole  voyage,  his  year's  fortunes, 
might  turn  on  his  seizing  upon  some  chance  opportu- 
nity to  locate  in  a  good  "  berth."  He  could  neither  be 
bound  to  my  course  nor  have  my  concerns  on  his  mind. 
But  he  agreed  not  to  put  me  off  in  a  dangerous  sea. 


The  Atlantic  Coast  41 

Several  other  northbound  captains  had  refused  to  take 
me  at  all ;  though  well  enough  disposed,  they  could  not 
be  bothered;  mind  and  craft  must  be  wholly  unbound. 

Captain  Eliot  towed  out  of  the  harbor  with  a  row- 
boat  to  a  streak  of  light  air  outside,  and  got  me  on  some 
twenty  odd  miles  that  day,  to  Windy  Tickle,  through 
the  region  of  islands  and  bays  known  as  Malta.  Once 
during  the  forenoon,  while  most  of  the  men  were  below, 
"  mugging  up  "  on  hard  bread  and  tea,  there  came  a 
hard  thump.  The  men  questioned  its  being  a  rock, 
and  mentioned  ice.  No  one  went  up,  but  it  was  re- 
marked that  she  struck  hard.  Presently  they  did  go 
up  —  for  whatever  purpose.  Soon  the  skipper  and 
another  came  down,  without  comment,  and  we  beat 
along  in  the  fresh  breeze,  the  water  land-sheltered  and 
flat.  When  I  suggested  to  Eliot  that  he  must  have 
sailed  these  waters  many  times,  he  replied,  "  No,  not 
as  far  as  this."  Still  he  knew  pretty  well  where  to  go. 
"  When  we  have  been  a  time  or  two  over  a  route  we 
know  it  well  enough  to  sail  it." 

He  was  watching  everywhere  for  fish.  Here  and 
there  along  the  islands  or  in  far  bays  were  lying  other 
schooners.  Off  he  would  go  in  the  rising  breeze,  for 
a  speck  of  a  hull  or  a  masthead  showing  over  some 
low  island,  down  overboard  into  the  boat  towing 
behind,  and  away  for  a  talk  and  a  visit.  His  purpose 
was  to  find  out  that  the  other  skipper  was  getting 
fish,  if  he  was;  the  latter's,  as  a  rule,  to  conceal  the 
fact  if  he  could.  No  crew  on  fish  wants  neighbors. 
Boats  coming  in  from  the  traps  were  scanned,  boats 
jigging  vainly  to  find  a  "  sign  "  of  fish  were  noted. 
Nothing  escaped  observation.  A  boat  low  down  with 
fish  would  be  a  certain  find.     But  it  was  early  in  the 


42  Labrador 

season,  fish  were  scarce,  and  all  the  schooners  floated 
high.  Eliot  had  not  a  fish  aboard  and  was  keen  ac- 
cordingly. "  What's  the  use  of  talking  with  skip- 
pers? "  I  asked,  "  they  won't  tell  you  the  truth."  "  I 
can  tell  pretty  well  by  the  way  they  talk,"  he  answered. 
Almost  always,  I  think,  he  could  tell;  there  were  a  good 
many  indications  to  go  by.  So  we  went,  often  several 
miles  about  to  one  ahead,  finding  nothing  worth  stop- 
ping for.  That  night  we  lay  in  deep,  precipitous 
Windy  Tickle.  Setting  off  as  the  tide  began  to  fall  in 
the  morning  we  went  fast  upon  rock  bottom.  The 
schooner  being  light  the  matter  was  probably  no  worse 
in  any  case  than  the  loss  of  a  tide,  twelve  hours,  but 
Eliot,  acting  with  great  energy  and  steadiness,  putting 
off  a  boat  anchor  and  keeping  his  sails  drawing  full, 
got  off  in  twenty  minutes.  I  had  thrown  up  my  hands 
in  his  behalf,  given  up,  and  told  him  so;  the  tide  was 
falling  and  it  seemed  useless  to  try  long. 

We  went  off  the  rock  with  wind  and  tide  carrying 
us  rapidly,  the  long  rope  to  the  boat  anchor  paying  out 
fast  overside,  spinning  up  from  the  deck  in  jumping 
loops  and  coils  that  were  dangerous  to  go  near.  In 
order  to  save  the  line  and  kedge  a  man  sprang  to  the 
job  of  fastening  a  float  to  the  end  of  the  line  before 
it  ran  out  overboard.  Remarkable  to  see  was  his  clever 
fence  with  the  snatching  coils,  risky  to  approach,  and 
the  time  was  short;  but  before  it  was  too  late  he  actu- 
ally cuffed  a  hitch  around  the  float  without  ever  really 
laying  hold  of  the  line,  and  the  trick  was  done.  There 
had  not  been  an  excited  word  throughout,  unless  from 
me,  much  less  swearing.  When  I  talked,  afterward, 
"  We  expect  to  be  on  bottom  some,"  was  all  the  skipper 
said,  though  he  owned  the  boat. 


The  Atlantic  Coast  43 

After  the  kedge  and  line  had  been  picked  up  we 
moved  for  the  open  reaches  beyond  the  tickle,  under 
full  sail.  But  we  were  not  done  with  old  Windy  yet. 
I  had  gone  below  and  was  talking  with  the  cook  in  the 
large  space  forward  when  a  low  boom  came  from  be- 
neath, followed  by  another  a  little  louder,  with  some 
jar,  though  the  schooner  kept  on  —  we  seemed  to  be 
rolling  along  on  loose  boulders  that  lay  on  the  level 
rock  bottom  at  the  head  of  the  tickle.  I  looked  at  the 
square  of  light  above  at  the  top  of  the  ladder  with  an 
impulse  to  climb,  then  at  the  cook,  who  seemed  steady 
enough ;  and  the  cook  so  taking  it,  I  did  not  care  to  be 
the  one  to  bolt.  Several  times  we  struck,  the  boom 
sounding  rather  impressive  in  the  empty  hold.  After 
staying  a  decent  time  below  I  went  up,  presently  re- 
marking to  Eliot  as  to  our  too  easterly  position. 
"There  isn't  hardly  water  enough  for  her  at  this  tide," 
he  observed,  but  slacked  no  sail.  Then  we  ran  into  the 
open  bay  beyond. 

Eliot  had  never  been  there  before.  When  he  asked 
once  where  to  go  I  could  say  little,  having  been  over 
that  water  only  in  small  boats.  "  We  have  mostly  to 
go  by  the  slope  of  the  shores,  in  places  where  we  haven' 
been,"  he  remarked,  and  in  answer  to  a  question,  "  Yes, 
we  often  have  to  go  where  we  don't  know  the  ground, 
when  we  are  beating."  But  there  was  no  indifference; 
going  up  the  run  there  were  always  three  pairs  of  eyes, 
side  by  side,  scanning  the  water  ahead.  The  intentness 
of  the  three  lookouts  never  faltered,  yet  it  seemed  to 
me  useless  to  look  for  any  but  very  high  shoals. 

In  a  few  miles  we  drew  up  on  a  schooner  ahead. 
"  There's  a  pilot  for  us,"  said  Eliot.  "  Are  you  sure 
that  she  knows  where  she  is  going?  "  I  asked.     "  He's 


44  Labrador 

a  neighbor  of  mine  and  knows  this  ground,"  he 
answered.  With  shortened  sail  we  followed  on  in  the 
track  of  the  other  schooner.  I  should  not  have  known 
that  Eliot  had  been  anxious,  but  now  I  saw  his  relief. 
Five  miles  from  Davis  Inlet  the  pilot  schooner  turned 
sharply,  more  than  half  round,  and  went  off  down  a 
long  passage  toward  the  open  sea.  I  happened  to  be 
just  taking  some  tea  and  hard  bread  below,  but  before 
I  got  started  on  it  Eliot  put  his  head  into  the  gangway 
and  asked  if  I  was  willing  to  get  off  there.  I  certainly 
did  not  care  to  —  the  wind  was  strong  and  there  was 
an  annoying  slop  on;  moreover,  I  wanted  my  tea  and 
bite,  my  "  mug-up,"  before  going  to  work.  But  Eliot 
had  already  done  a  great  deal  for  me,  there  was  a  ques- 
tion of  sporting  blood,  and  in  a  few  minutes  I  was  over- 
side and  bobbing  about  in  my  canoe,  empty  and  rueful, 
but  with  honor  saved,  the  schooner  off  down  the  pas- 
sage like  a  bird  to  overhaul  her  pilot.  My  mug-up 
came  two  or  three  hours  later,  with  some  Eskimo  I 
knew,  who  were  camping  on  the  "  Red  Point "  below 
Davis  Inlet  post.  It  had  been  a  vicious  wind  and  hard 
rowing,  though  happily  the  run  was  landlocked. 


THE  COOK  OF  THE  CAMBRIA 


OVERTURNING  ICE ,  NEAR  VOISEY'S  BAY,  1905 


CHAPTER  IV 
fanny's  harbor 

Early  the  8th  of  July,  1903,  we  ran  from  Hopedale 
to  Fanny's  Harbor,  and  I  scrambled  up  on  Tom 
Spracklin's  stage,  to  stay  longer  than  I  then  imagined. 
Tom  stared  a  little,  but  agreed  to  take  me  in  —  it  was 
a  matter  of  course.  Afterward  the  people  of  the  place 
said  I  looked  a  poor  risk,  for  a  person  knocking  about, 
and  what  with  leavings  from  old  malaria  and  the  marks 
of  a  coldish  voyage  with  evil  ventilation,  perhaps  it 
was  so.  Cod  had  not  come  in,  but  Spracklin  had  a 
gill  net  out  for  sea  trout,  and  we  did  well  for  food. 

Fanny's  is  on  the  east  side  of  Cape  Harrigan  Island, 
with  a  short,  narrow  entrance,  which  has,  of  course, 
a  rock  in  the  middle.  "  There  is  always  a  harbor 
rock,"  the  fishermen  say.  The  harbor  is  small  and 
rocky,  but  the  shore  is  low  to  the  west,  where  are  flat 
moss  tundra  and  the  shallow  dead  ponds  common  to 
all  bog  places  in  the  North.  Tom's  literary  imagina- 
tion, which  I  was  to  appreciate  later,  led  him  to  remark 
on  there  being  "  a  million  geese  over  there  in  the  fall." 
There  are  a  good  many,  dropping  in  from  north  on 
September  days. 

The  island  is  three  or  four  miles  across.  Out  to 
sea  are  shoals  and  rocks,  and  here  the  pack  ice  makes 
its  July  stand  against  all  craft.  This  was  an  early 
season  and  the  pack  just  let  us  in,  stringing  off  to  sea 

45 


46  Labrador 

for  good  by  nightfall.  In  1905  it  was  strong  the 
22d  of  July,  and  the  Virginia  had  to  turn  back  south, 
after  some  hours  of  heavy  ramming;  she  had  to  go  into 
dry  dock  afterward  at  St.  John's,  to  touch  up  her 
screw. 

The  western  hills  of  the  island,  gray  and  desolate, 
are  six  or  seven  hundred  feet  high  and  offer  a  good 
lookout.  Soon  settled  I  took  my  rifle  and  paddled 
over  to  the  moss  ground  around  which  the  hills  circle. 
The  head  wind  was  almost  too  much  for  my  single 
paddle,  and  my  progress  was  made  a  subject  of  de- 
pressing comment  after  I  got  back. 

The  island  is  plain  Arctic,  and  was  to  me  a  new  utterly 
northern  world,  none  the  less  for  the  bergs  always  in 
the  offing.  Just  out  of  steamer  confinement,  I  walked 
with  quick  feet.  What  looked  like  grass,  in  the  lower 
lands,  was  moss.  Much  of  the  footing  was  velvety 
and  firm,  even  on  the  bogs,  though  in  places  they  were 
like  bogs  everywhere.  The  early  flowers  were  many, 
some  with  stems  an  inch  long,  some  less;  the  best 
quite  like  our  bluet  in  shape,  but  a  marvelous  pink  in 
color,  and  growing  in  dense  patches  the  size  of  one's 
hand.  It  is  all  but  stemless.  An  Eskimo  woman  has 
called  it,  from  description,  the  irok,  but  there  may  have 
been  a  mistake  of  identity. 

In  damp  places  the  white  blossoms  of  the  bake  apple 
or  cloudberry  showed  above  the  moss,  and  where  it  was 
drier  those  of  the  familiar  serviceberry  and  of  the 
northern  blueberry,  clinging  flat  to  the  ground.  On 
the  hills  were  scattered  boulders,  lichened  on  sheltered 
faces,  and  little  plats  and  streaks  of  moss,  though  at 
a  distance  the  hills  appeared  to  be  of  absolutely  life- 
less gray  rock.     That  there  should  be  animal  life  in 


Fanny's  Harbor  47 

such  sheer  desolation  seemed  out  of  the  question,  still 
less  that  it  should  turn  out  a  rabbit  pasture,  but  near 
the  top  of  the  highest  hill  I  came  upon  my  first  arctic 
hare.  They  are  invisible  enough  when  not  moving, 
even  on  the  bare  rock.  It  was  as  if  one  of  the  smaller 
boulders  had  risen  near  my  feet  and  hopped  away,  and 
its  size  was  astonishing.  It  would  not  do  to  say  that 
it  looked  as  big  as  a  sheep,  whatever  the  fact,  but  it 
certainly  was  conspicuous.  They  seem  larger  to  us 
than  any  western  jack  rabbits.  The  summer  hare  is 
mainly  blue  gray.  In  winter  the  tips  of  the  ears  re- 
main black,  but  the  rest  is  white,  a  wonderful  long 
dense  fur,  white  to  the  very  skin.  Our  common  white 
hare  of  the  forests  is  brown  below  the  tips  of  the  hair, 
and  the  animal  lookes  small  and  ill  clad  by  comparison. 
The  arctic  hare  lives  chiefly  on  the  coast  islands,  where 
there  is  least  danger  of  wolves  and  foxes.  Its  su- 
periorities extend  eminently  to  the  table,  but  the 
beautiful  skin,  handsomer  to  my  mind  than  that  of  the 
arctic  fox,  is  not  durable,  and  brings  only  five  or  ten 
cents  at  the  store. 

At  about  ninety  yards  the  hare  stopped  and  I  fired. 
He  went  off  holding  up  his  fore  leg,  and  for  a  long 
time  I  followed  on,  finally  to  a  rock  pile,  a  natural 
refuge.  I  was  sorry  to  leave  him  maimed  and  I  took 
a  great  deal  of  trouble  trying  to  recover  him.  What 
puzzled  me  was  that  there  was  no  trace  anywhere  of 
blood  or  hare.  I  gave  up  quite  depressed,  and  it  was 
months  before  I  learned  that  this  hare  frequently  runs 
on  two  legs,  holding  up  its  front  paws.  The  shot  was 
doubtless  a  miss,  more  probably  as  I  had  never  fired 
that  rifle  before. 

A  large  gray  loon  I  shot  floated  out  with  the  tide. 


48  Labrador 

There  were  horned  larks  blowing  about  the  rocks,  and 
a  small,  slaty  bird  with  a  striped  head.  Between  two 
small  ponds  a  muskrat  was  carrying  grass  or  roots  up 
a  little  brook.  There  were  some  flocks  of  ducks  out 
of  reach,  and  many  gulls.  Next  to  the  hare  the  most 
notable  creature  of  the  day  was  a  great  brown  eider 
duck  which  fairly  lifted  me  by  thundering  up  from 
between  my  feet.  It  skimmed  far  over  the  tundra  like 
a  shearwater.  There  were  six  eggs,  laid  on  a  filmy 
mat  of  down;  the  nest  was  in  a  dry  place  several  rods 
from  water. 

Although  not  getting  the  hare  was  a  disappointment 
to  me,  one  is  not  always  sorry  for  shooting  badly,  and 
so  it  turned  out  on  a  ramble  of  the  second  morning. 
In  a  little  cliff  not  far  from  the  harbor  lived  some 
ravens.  It  was  a  convenient  and  prosperous  location 
for  them,  for  their  home  ledge  was  near  the  harbor  and 
stage,  and  the  leavings  from  the  fishing  kept  them  in 
plenty.  The  fishing  being  scarcely  on  as  yet  there 
appeared  nothing  of  doubtful  quality  for  them  to  eat, 
and  as  some  one  had  told  me  that  raven's  meat  was 
white  and  good,  unlike  crow,  I  thought  it  a  good 
chance  to  try  one.  They  were  not  shy,  but  the  wind 
was  coming  in  quick,  pushing  gusts,  and  my  first  shot 
was  a  miss.  The  bird  took  no  notice,  being  occupied 
in  balancing  itself  in  the  wind,  with  many  flirts,  but 
presently  flew  a  few  yards  to  a  sheltered  shelf.  As  I 
prepared  to  try  again  a  second  raven  lit  beside  him,  and 
I  paused  to  observe  their  meeting.  Ravens  have  a 
dignity  absent  in  the  crow,  and  the  trait  was  manifest. 
For  some  time  I  watched  them.  Their  fine  unconsci- 
ousness of  being  observed,  though  I  was  near  and  in 
plain  sight,  was  as  that  of  high  personages.     I  might 


Fancy's  Harbor  49 

not  have  existed,  was  not  even  accorded  notice  as  an 
intruder.  I  began  to  feel  uncomfortable.  Their  per- 
sonable presence,  their  affectionate  courtesy  toward 
each  other,  became  too  much  for  my  purpose,  and 
before  long,  thankful  that  my  shot  had  missed,  I  took 
myself  away. 

That  afternoon  I  went  southwest  a  couple  of  miles, 
across  the  low  ground,  and  over  a  pass  which  leads  to 
the  schooner  anchorage  in  Windy  Tickle.  There  was 
a  little  scrub  spruce  in  the  pass,  and  dwarf  birch,  the 
"  deerbush  "  which  caribou  like  so  well  in  summer. 
It  is  an  agreeable  bush  to  the  eye,  with  shiny,  roundish 
leaves,  neatly  scalloped,  and  the  size  of  a  dime.  The 
bush  has  the  general  habit  of  our  home  laurel  and  alder. 

There  had  been  quite  a  wind,  and  consequently  no 
trouble  from  mosquitoes.  Turning*  back  the  breeze 
lessened,  moving  with  me  at  about  my  own  speed.  I 
had  no  gloves  or  other  defense,  and  shortly  mosquitoes 
began  to  be  annoying.  Before  long  they  had  grown 
to  a  thick  swarm,  raging  like  wasps.  I  had  supposed 
I  knew  all  about  mosquitoes,  from  many  years  of  trout 
fishing.  On  a  still  evening  on  the  Bersimis  we  ha.d 
been  wretched,  Indians  and  all,  in  spite  of  ten  punk  fires 
going.  But  now  I  became  almost  frightened.  I  had 
been  tired,  walking  all  day  after  the  inaction  of  the 
voyage,  and  sorry  to  have  to  walk  back  across  the 
yielding  bog  land,  but  that  matter  of  regret  soon 
vanished  from  my  mind,  and  I  took  to  a  hard  run, 
thrashing  with  a  branch  and  only  wishing  that  my  other 
hand  was  not  occupied  with  my  gun.  Winded,  1  would 
turn  and  walk  slowly  back  into  the  breeze  until  good 
for  another  run.  Eight  hundred  of  the  enemy,  as  I 
reckoned,  followed  into  the  canoe  and  kept  the  affair 


50  Labrador 

going  while  I  crossed  the  half  mile  of  harbor.  One 
has  to  have  both  hands  in  paddling,  unfortunately. 

I  had  had  my  lesson  —  was  "blooded."  Never 
from  that  day,  and  for  some  years  following  I  passed 
much  of  the  summer  in  that  country,  have  I  gone  away 
from  shelter  without  special  means  of  protection. 

So  with  each  new  companion  from  south  —  there 
is  the  same  assurance  based  on  past  experience,  the 
same  onset  when  mosquito  conditions  arrive,  the  same 
half  panic,  and  the  acquisition  of  a  permanent  memory. 
None  ever  forgets. 

As  to  getting  over  the  twenty  miles  to  Davis  Inlet, 
Spracklin  would  have  been  glad  enough  to  take  me,  but 
was  short  handed.  He  thought  some  of  the  "  Labra- 
dorians  "  ought  to  come  along;  however,  if  not,  he 
would  rig  his  jack,  which  only  needed  a  bit  of 
calking,  and  get  me  over.  Meanwhile  I  talked  to  Bella 
Lane,  over  at  Jim  Spracklin's  place,  across  the  harbor 
entrance ;  she  lived  in  the  next  bay  and  knew  the  way 
of  things.  Some  Naskapi  were  down  in  June,  and 
would  be  in  again  soon.  Opetik  Bay  was  the  place, 
fifty  miles  north.  There  seemed  to  be  reason  for 
thinking  they  had  some  large  lake  not  far  inland  where 
they  summered.  The  near  lake,  in  the  end  proved  a 
myth,  but  Bella,  who  by  the  way  had  looks,  was  rather 
nearer  right  than  most  other  coast  people  I  have  asked 
about  Indians.     The  inland  is  none  of  theirs. 

I  was  rather  restless,  but  in  a  day  or  two  Labra- 
dorians  came,  in  the  persons  of  Sam  Bromfield  and 
Sandy  Geer,  and  would  take  me  to  the  Inlet.  Their 
price  was  high,  but  they  were  stiff.  Long  afterward 
Sam's  conscience  stirred,  and  he  told  me  that,  in  what 
was  certainly  a  neighborly  spirit,  Spracklin  had  coached 


AT   RED   POINT 


DAVIS  INLET 


Fanny's  Harbor  51 

him  up  —  the  American  was  "  bound  to  get  across." 

Yet  at  nearly  the  same  time  I  must  have  qualified 
as  a  neighbor  too,  in  some  imperceptible  way,  for 
from  that  day  on  Spracklin's  kindness  to  me  was  un- 
failing. I  fell  often  upon  his  hospitalities  and  for 
years  was  as  glad  to  see  his  face  as  any  on  the  coast. 

It  was  late  in  the  day  when  we  got  off,  towing  the 
canoe  in  an  uneasy  slop.  For  a  couple  of  miles  we 
were  outside  the  cape,  heading  for  an  island  called  the 
Devil's  Thumb.  The  name  is  not  so  farfetched ;  the 
outline  of  a  bent  back  thumb  can  be  imagined,  and  for 
the  rest  the  name  of  his  Highness  and  one  part  or  an- 
other of  his  anatomy  is  always  in  order  where  rocks 
and  outdoor  people  are.  The  Thumb  is  unspeakably 
barren.  It  is  the  seawartd  member  of  the  cape  group. 
Traces  of  lichen  scurf  show  on  the  landward  side,  but 
facing  the  north  the  high,  steep  hill  is  utterly  naked,  a 
monument  to  the  inconceivable  winter  gales.  In  a 
more  tolerable  latitude  the  entire  rock  might  yet  be 
ground  up  for  fertilizer,  for  it  appears  to  the  eye  to  be 
wrholly  of  whitish  or  pink  feldspar. 

For  a  while  we  were  under  the  sheer  cliffs  of  the 
main  island,  and  Sam  watched  the  puffs  nervously. 
Well  that  he  was  undersparred,  as  all  open-boat  people 
go  when  their  shores  are  high  —  and  few  shores  are 
otherwise  on  the  Labrador.  His  two  stout  masts,  un- 
stayed, were  ready  to  be  jerked  from  their  sockets  and 
laid  down  if  the  "  lop  "  became  too  sharp.  The  relief 
to  a  boat  in  a  seaway  when  this  is  done  is  remarkable. 

The  local  rig  is  simple.  The  after  sail  generally 
has  a  sprit  and  boom,  the  foresail  a  sprit  only,  and 
there  is  often  a  bit  of  a  jib.  Among  the  cod  fishermen 
tanned  sails  prevail.     I  have  wondered  if  there  was  an 


52  Labrador 

esthetic  side  to  this,  beyond  the  mere  matter  of  wear. 
Certainly  the  eye  does  not  demand  the  white  of  sails  in 
the  North  —  more  white  on  a  sea  where  shining  ice  and 
ghostly  fog  are  one's  lifelong  enemies  —  not  near  to, 
at  any  rate.  White  sails  may  be  harmonious,  but  when 
one  is  satiated  with  ice  upon  ice,  and  thick  weather, 
and  pickled  air  from  the  bergs  and  salt  ice-pans  of 
Baffin's  Bay,  one  doesn't  mind  resting  the  eye  upon  a 
bit  of  warm  brown  here  and  there. 

Sam's  mind  eased  as  we  made  the  wider  waters  and 
lower  shores  beyond  the  Thumb.  The  long  sculling 
oar  took  up  the  work  as  the  wind  failed  and  talk  began. 
Sam  loquens  is  Sam  in  his  glory,  altogether  to  my  profit 
on  that  trip ;  it  took  some  chilly  hours  to  get  to  Davis 
Inlet  Post,  and  by  the  time  we  were  there  I  knew  a  good 
deal  about  the  region.  The  conversation  was  pleas- 
antly personal  in  places,  Sam  waving  gently  at  his  long 
stern  oar  and  I  bunched  in  wraps  beside  him.  His 
all-round  gray  whiskers  gave  him  age  enough  to  make 
me  naturally  deferential.  As  we  progressed  he  looked 
down  at  me  sympathetically.  "  I  suppose  you  are 
about  my  age,  about  sixty  ?  "  A  little  aback  I  finally 
came  in,  "  Well  —  er, —  not  quite  that,  yet."  He 
acquiesced,  perhaps  doubtfully.  It  was  rather  hard, 
for  I  still  had  fifteen  years  to  go.  There  was  more 
tact  in  his  question  than  appeared,  so  I  learned  later. 
Only  fifty-five  himself,  he  had  placed  his  age  higher  to 
save  my  venerable  feelings. 

We  passed  Kutalik  or  Massacre  Island  close  and 
were  off  the  Mountaineers'  Rock,  a  small  affair  awash 
at  low  tide.  Sam  told  its  tale.  In  old  days  when  war- 
fare between  the  Eskimo  and  Mountaineers  of  the  in- 
land was  unrelenting  the  Eskimo  of  the  neighborhood 


Fanny's  Harbor  53 

were  camped  on  the  smooth  moss  ground  of  the  western 
side  of  Kutalik,  where  their  old  rings  of  tent  stones 
are  still  visible.  While  the  men  were  off  hunting 
Indians  descended  upon  the  women  and  children,  killed 
them  all,  threw  them  into  the  sea,  and  departed.  As 
the  Eskimo  men  were  returning  one  of  them  saw  some- 
thing floating  and  threw  his  spear,  finding  then  that  he 
had  transfixed  the  boot  and  foot  of  his  own  wife,  killed 
with  the  rest.  ...  It  was  late  in  the  day,  and  the 
Mountaineers'  Rock  lay  toward  the  sunset,  some  three 
miles  away.  The  Eskimo  noticed  that  the  rock  seemed 
higher  than  usual.  As  the  tide  came  to  its  height  they 
saw  the  Mountaineers  leave  the  flooded  rock  and 
paddle  up  the  bay  beyond  to  the  mainland.  They  had 
been  concealed  under  their  canoes,  placed  close  together, 
and  it  was  these  which  gave  the  rock  its  unusual  eleva- 
tion. The  Eskimo  followed  them  after  dark,  sur- 
rounded their  camp,  and  speared  them  to  a  man. 

Some  say  that  Eskimo  men  as  well  as.  women  were 
floating  in  the  water  that  day.  At  all  events  the  story 
shows  how  things  went  between  the  two  races,  from 
Maine,  perhaps,  around  the  northern  shores  to  Alaska. 
They  have  little  taste  for  each  other  to  this  day, 
although  white  influence  at  the  shores  has  ended  the 
fighting.  There  is  no  doubt  that,  man  for  man,  with 
the  primitive  weapons,  the  Eskimo. was  at  no  disadvan- 
tage, but  the  Indians  acquired  guns  first  and  gradually 
forced  the  shore  dwellers  out  of  the  Gulf  of  St. 
Lawrence  and  to  the  north. 

The  Indians'  families,  back  on  the  country,  were 
probably  not  much  exposed  in  the  fighting,  while  those 
of  the  Eskimo  were,  as  they  could  be  easily  found  along 
the  shores.     Yet  it  is  not  likely  that  the  initiative  has 


54  Labrador 

always  been  with  the  Indians.  The  two  main  causes 
of  trouble  among  simple  people  in  the  world  at  least 
have  been  infringement  of  territory  and  woman  steal- 
ing; and  the  Eskimo,  while  at  a  disadvantage  from  their 
shore  habitat,  have  doubtless  had  some  share  in  aggres- 
sion and  its  proceeds.  There  are  some  Indian-looking 
individuals  among  the  Eskimo.  The  case  of  Indian- 
Eskimo  adoption,  on  the  other  side,  is  strong.  Maine 
Indians  show  Eskimo  peculiarties  of  skull.  A  Cree  I 
traveled  with  in  1909  remembered  that  the  old  people 
on  Hudson's  Bay  used  to  tell  of  adopting  Eskimo 
women  and  children ;  and  the  practice,  broadly,  of  adop- 
tion from  among  their  captives,  even  of  men,  has  been 
widespread  among  tribes  of  the  temperate  area.  The 
well-known  fact  that  at  the  height  of  their  power  the 
Iroquois  tribes  had  as  much  -foreign  blood,  chiefly 
Algonquian,  as  of  their  own,  is  in  accord  with  the  con- 
tinental tendency. 

To-day  nevertheless,  it  is  rather  hard  to  imagine  a 
pure  Indian  of  northeast  Labrador  marrying  an 
Eskimo.  Their  antipathy  seems  racial.  The  Eskimo 
seems  to  regard  the  Indian  as  a  hateful  predatory 
creature  of  the  wolf  or  panther  kind.  The  Indian 
view  is  not  so  easy  to  assume;  the  Eskimo  revolts  him 
a  little;  his  dirt,  his  lack  of  dignity,  his  diet,  his  smell. 
The  Indian  has  given  to  him  what  to  his  own  mind  is 
almost  as  bad  a  name  as  he  could,  for  the  word  Eskimo 
is  Algonquian  for  Eater  of  the  Raw.  The  Indian  is 
particular  in  having  his  food  cooked. 

Late  in  the  winter  the  Eskimo  of  the  coast  go  inland 
for  caribou  nearly  to  the  height  of  land,  but  only  in 
strong  parties,  so  far  as  I  can  learn.  Many  of  the 
white  or  partly  white  shore' people  tell  of  going  into  the 


Fanny's  Harbor  55 

interior  one  or  two  hundred  miles,  always  in  winter, 
but  really  they  do  not  go  far,  and  "  signs  of  Indians  " 
are  mentioned  with  bated  breath.  Some  of  the  shore 
people  are  pretty  well  acquainted  with  the  individual 
Indians  now,  for  the  latter  are  peaceable  enough  at  the 
shore,  but  a  shore  person  hunting  alone  at  a  distance 
inland  would,  I  think,  be  made  uncomfortable  if  dis- 
covered. 

Sam  was  wholly  interesting  about  the  bay  life,  the 
hunting  for  deer  and  seals,  the  trapping  for  fur.  The 
walrus  is  rare  now ;  sometimes  a  straggler  comes  along 
from  Chidley  way,  and  sometimes  still  a  white  bear. 
Black  bears  are  common  game  though  not  too  plenty; 
silver  foxes,  the  dream  of  all  Labrador  hunters,  are 
caught  in  some  numbers,  and  Sam  had  had  his  share 
of  them.  There  were  otters  and  some  few  martens  in 
the  valleys  near  the  coast. 

Summer  was  given  up  to  fishing.  The  midsummer 
fishing  was  for  sea  trout  and  salmon,  which  lasted  until 
the  cod  came  in.  All  the  people  of  the  coast  were 
hunters  and  fishermen,  there  was  no  attempt  at  plant- 
ing this  ground ;  they  lived  by  rifle,  net,  and  trap,  only 
the  cod  coming  by  the  hook. 

Open  boating  is  apt  to  be  a  cold,  long-drawn  matter 
in  northern  waters,  and  such  was  this  voyage  with 
Sam.  The  last  of  the  trip  to  the  Inlet  rests  much  with 
the  tide:  if  it  is  falling,  strong  wind  is  needed  to  get 
up;  if  rising,  all  goes  well  in  any  case.  The  post, 
with  its  flagpole  and  row  of  white  buildings,  shipshape 
as  Hudson's  Bay  Company  stations  always  are,  is 
backed  by  quite  a  hillside  of  small,  dense  spruce.  The 
larger  growth  has  been  culled  out  in  the  course  of  years. 

At  the  landing  we  were  met  pleasantly  by  Stuart 


56  Labrador 

Cotter,  the  master  of  the  post.  The  arrival  of  the 
winter's  mail,  which  we  had  brought  along,  was  an 
event  hardly  second  to  any  in  the  Hudson's  Bay  Com- 
pany calendar.  Cotter  made  little  expression  as  we 
handed  it  to  him,  but  in  truth  was  a  little  dazed  at  find- 
ing his  hands  actually  upon  it.  He  was  a  young  man, 
a  bachelor  withal,  and  had  many  friends  in  the  outside 
world.  As  we  stood  on  the  wharf,  the  back  of  his 
neck  became  pretty  well  covered  with  large  mosquitoes 
—  the  post  is  a  fierce  place  for  them,  what  with  fresh 
water,  grass,  and  dogs.  I  told  him  about  them  as  we 
passed  up  from  the  wharf,  but  the  tension  of  the  occa- 
sion, the  coming  of  the  mail  and  a  strange  visitor  to- 
gether, was  too  much;  unconscious,  he  carried  them  all 
into  the  house. 


CHAPTER  V 

INDIANS 

We  talked  until  one  in  the  morning,  though  I  re- 
minded Cotter  more  than  once  that  he  had  not  opened 
his  mail.  During  the  rest  of  the  night  I  waked  enough 
once  or  twice  to  notice  a  crack  of  light  under  my  door 
coming  from  his  room.  Referring  to  it  at  breakfast 
it  turned  out  he  had  been  reading  his  mail  all  night 
and  had  not  gone  to  bed  at  all!  His  predecessor  at 
the  post  was  not  otherwise,  he  could  not  sleep  the  night 
after  getting  his  annual  mail.  This  for  Cotter,  a 
strong  young  fellow  of  thirty,  who  ought  to  sleep  well 
under  any  circumstances,  was  rather  notable;  but, 
after  all,  winter  is  long  anywhere  north,  and  more 
than  long  in  such  a  place  of  limited  society. 

We  had  sea  trout  of  two  or  three  pounds,  tasting 
between  winninish  and  brook  trout,  for  breakfast,  and 
barren  ground  caribou  for  dinner,  killed  in  winter  and 
kept  in  a  snowdrift  still  visible  across  the  run;  the 
venison  was  particularly  good.  Alongside  the  cold- 
storage  drift  was  a  conspicuous  vertical  fissure  up  and 
down  a  cliff,  accepted  as  a  convenient  noon  mark,  being 
exactly  south  from  the  post.  The  "  run  "  lies  east  and 
west  here,  and  is  just  a  sea  mile  wide. 

Now  came  real  travel.  I  should  have  had  a  sad  time 
that  year  without  a  canoe ;  there  was  not  another  on  all 
the  coast  from  Belle  Isle  to  Chidley.     It  was  hard  to 

57 


58  Labrador 

get  into  the  interior  as  it  was,  for  want  of  help.  This 
seemed  strange  to  me,  for  there  were  enough  people 
along,  all  hunters;  but  even  now,  after  years'  visits 
to  the  coast,  there  is  only  one  person,  and  he  a  boy, 
whom  I  should  think  of  taking  inland.  The  worth- 
while men  are  busy  fishing  in  summer,  and  at  best  have 
no  taste  for  the  heat  and  flies  of  the  back  country; 
still  less,  and  this  is  a  serious  matter,  for  the  evil  pres- 
ences of  Eskimo  theology.  Under  all,  moreover,  is  the 
feeling  that  the  Indians  regard  their  presence  in  the 
country  with  disfavor. 

There  was  a  good  deal  of  discussion  as  to  what  could 
be  done,  and  in  the  end  Cotter  turned  me  over  to  John 
Oliver  for  safe  conduct  to  Opetik  Bay,  where  the 
Indians  were  likely  to  come  out  soon.  They  thought 
a  man  up  there  named  George  might  go  with  me.  In 
this  they  spoke  rather  faintly,  but  I  felt  hopeful  enough ; 
any  human  with  legs  could  at  least  go  along  and  be 
company;  I  should  see  a  little  of  the  country  anyway, 
and  need  not  risk  missing  the  Indians  by  going  farther 
than  we  could  trace  out  their  usual  route.  Oliver,  my 
present  boatman,  was  a  half  Eskimo  of  a  good  sort, 
way-wise  from  having  seen  the  world,  possibly  too  much 
of  it,  with  a  party  of  natives  who  had  been  exhibited 
at  the  Buffalo  World's  Fair  and  in  European  capitals. 
Tips  of  real  gold  had  not  spoiled  him  as  a  seal  hunter, 
and  he  was  a  good  companion. 

Travel  goes  much  by  tides  in  the  calm  summer  days. 
We  dropped  west  with  a  current  along  the  run  for  a 
few  miles  before  dark  to  the  summer  hut  of  an  Eskimo 
named  Daniel,  for  the  Moravians  have  given  their 
people  Bible  names  along  here.  More  lately,  and  better 
counseled,  they  are  bringing  in  the  native  names  again. 


DANIEL'S  SUMMER  HOUSE 


DANIEL'S  DOGS 


Indians  59 

We  went  ashore.  Sleeping  in  an  open  boat  is  not  so 
bad,  but  things  ashore  promised  better,  and  my  confi- 
dence in  the  housekeeping  of  Mrs.  Daniel  —  Mrs. 
Daniel  Noah  it  was  in  full  —  was  not  misplaced.  The 
little  round-faced  daughter  was  winning  and  pretty. 
A  sealy  flavor  prevailed,  not  disagreeable  thus  in 
moderation.  Small  sea  trout,  split  and  gashed,  were 
drying  on  a  line;  the  larger  ones  were  salted  and  sold 
to  the  post.  Fish  spawn,  like  slim  strings  of  dried 
apples,  was  hanging  about,  and  a  bunch  of  small  caribou 
horns  decorated  the  gable. 

Their  floor  was  the  smooth  rock,  a  good  bed  for  us 
visitors.  Cracks  in  the  walls  let  in  plenty  of  air,  and 
for  the  first  time  since  leaving  St.  John's  I  had  air 
enough.  Intentional  ventilation  is  rare  in  the  northern 
world,  for  mosquitoes  come  in  with  air  in  summer,  and 
cold  in  winter;  the  word  ventilation  is  unknown. 

Trout,  of  course,  of  shining  memory,  were  the 
breakfast,  with  bread  and  tea.  A  number  of  beauti- 
ful young  dogs  met  us  outside,  fairly  leaping  over  each 
other  at  the  sound  of  Daniel's  voice.  They  quieted 
down,  scattering  about  sleepily  in  the  sun,  and  mos- 
quitoes began  to  settle  upon  them.  Relief  came,  how- 
ever, in  a  pretty  way.  A  handsome  sparrow,  the 
White-crowned,  flew  down,  and  hopping  up  to  a  dog 
whose  head  was  conveniently  low,  cleared  every  mos- 
quito, one  by  one,  from  his  face.  The  dog  did  not 
move,  though  he  might  easily  have  snapped  up  the  bird. 
The  animal's  face  done  with,  the  bird  jumped  upon  its 
outstretched  body  and  rambled  over  it,  leaving  no  mos- 
quito behind.  The  Eskimo  call  the  bird  kutshituk, 
"  fly  eater." 

Daniel  went  along  with  us  in  his  own  boat  to  his 


60  Labrador 

winter  house,  some  seven  or  eight  miles,  cracking  away 
now  and  then  at  the  loons  with  a  worn-out  .44  rirle,  and 
shooting  very  badly.  His  house  is  a  log  house,  on  a 
passage  spoken  of  as  Daniel's  Rattle,  where  rock  cod 
are  abundant  in  winter,  and  where,  no  less  important 
to  an  Eskimo,  all  the  winter  travel  of  the  coast  passes 
the  door.  A  rattle,  by  the  way,  is  a  passage  where  the 
current  is  so  swift  as  to  be  noisy.  We  nooned  at  Jim 
Lane's  place,  Opetik  Bay.  He,  like  other  people  along, 
objected  to  taking  pay  for  his  hospitality,  being  only  too 
glad  to  have  company,  but  I  prevailed  in  this ;  it  would 
not  do  for  me,  who  might  not  come  along  again,  to 
leave  them  the  worse  in  pocket  for  my  passing. 
Among  themselves  the  meals  with  each  other  may 
balance  up  in  the  long  run. 

While  we  were  eating,  Jim  came  in  and  asked  if  I 
wanted  to  see  a  white  partridge.  Turning  out  with 
the  camera  I  found  a  willow  ptarmigan  walking  about, 
unconcerned  save  with  the  management  of  a  new- 
hatched  family.  She  paid  no  attention  to  people  or 
dogs.  At  a  distance  of  thirty  or  forty  feet  I  stopped 
with  the  camera.  "  You  can  go  nearer,"  said  Jim, 
"  she  won't  mind  you."  Indeed  she  remained  per- 
fectly unconcerned,  and  my  last  snap  was  taken  at  six 
feet.  Jim  said  she  had  been  about  the  place  for  some 
time.  Considering  the  natural  nervousness  of  hen 
birds  with  chicks  I  thought  the  showing  of  fearlessness 
remarkable,  and  a  light  not  only  upon  Jim's  ways  but 
those  of  his  dogs.  Jim  looked  his  part,  but  he  must 
have  had  a  wonderful  relation  with  those  high-tailed 
Eskimo  dogs.  Such  dogs  snap  up  a  cat  or  other  small 
creature  in  short  order  ordinarily,  and  by  reputation 


Indians  61 

are  a  savage  lot;  but  after  this  episode  and  that  of  the 
kutshituk  I  began  to  have  views  of  my  own. 

Wind  carried  us  against  tide  five  or  six  miles  to 
George's,  where  the  family  were  salting  away  trout  at 
the  rate  of  a  barrel  a  day,  fetching  four  dollars.  The 
very  small  house  was  placed  upon  an  island  rock, 
to  be  away  from  mosquitoes,  if  somewhat  vainly. 
Skins  of  loons  indicated  the  prevailing  kind  of  water- 
fowl; Opetik  is  one  of  their  favorite  places.  On  this 
coast  everything  birdlike  is  eaten,  loons,  gulls,  owls, 
and  guillemots.  We  had  had  eiders'  eggs  at  Lane's; 
at  this  place  there  were  sea  pigeons'  eggs,  better  yet. 
The  pigeon,  merely  a  little  black  diver,  produces  not 
only  a  large  superior  egg,  but  so  much  meat  and  such 
good  meat  that  its  being  about  everywhere  is  surpris- 
ing. Its  neat  webbed  feet,  done  in  red,  and  used  as  a 
tail  in  flying,  together  with  the  white  patches  on  its 
wing  coverts,  lend  it  quite  a  distinction  when  in  the  air. 
It  nests  in  holes  among  the  rocks,  high  above  the  water, 
and  the  first  young  ones  are  white  in  winter. 

George  doubted  taking  on  much  of  a  job,  but  would 
go  along  to  William's  up  the  bay,  and  we  would  talk 
it  over.  We  were  there,  at  the  head  of  the  bay,  before 
night,  at  the  foot  of  picturesque  bare  hills  and  moun- 
tains rising  toward  the  interior.  William  (Edmunds), 
a  virile  part  Eskimo  whom  I  have  always  liked  and  re- 
spected, could  speak  pretty  good  English,  and  that  eve- 
ning we  talked  over  all  things.  He  was  getting  trout 
and  some  salmon,  but  said  his  place  was  not  as  good  for 
fish  as  that  of  his  brother  David  in  Shung-ho  bay, 
which  we  had  traversed  without  crossing  over  to  the 
house.     David  caught  in  good  years  eighty  or  a  hun- 


62  Labrador 

dred  barrels  of  trout,  and  in  marksmanship,  hunting 
skill,  and  personal  strength  was  fairly  king  of  the  re- 
gion. He  and  Lane  were  peers  in  a  way,  and  old  hunt- 
ing companions.  David  had  been  known  to  put  his 
sled  after  a  running  herd  of  caribou  and  kill  seven  with 
seven  cartridges  while  dogs  and  deer  were  doing  their 
best.  Wonderful  shots  are  some  of  these  part-Eskimo 
bay  men,  whose  practice  is  at  seals'  heads  and  water- 
fowl from  their  uneasy  boats. 

We  canvassed  the  matter  of  going  inland.  William 
ought  to  have  known  the  Indian  route  well,  but  whether 
he  gave  George  the  benefit  of  his  knowledge  is  doubt- 
ful. The  Indians  generally  came  out  at  William's  place 
and  left  their  canoes,  taking  his  sailboat  the  rest  of  the 
way  to  the  post.  He  or  his  son  would  do  the  naviga- 
ting, and  by  virtue  of  sails,  oars,  and  their  familiar 
knowledge  of  tide  currents,  the  Indians  paddling  in 
numbers  when  necessary,  night  or  day,  they  commonly 
made  fast  time.  Sometimes  they  made  a  stop  at  Lane's. 
His  sister,  Mrs.  Tom  Geer,  who  lives  there  now,  tells 
how  well  the  Indian  women  cook,  on  the  rare  occasions 
when  they  come  to  the  coast. 

George  finally  agreed  to  go  as  far  as  I  cared  to ;  and 
off  we  went  in  the  morning.  "  I'm  in  a  canoe !  I'm  in 
a  canoe !  "  he  sang,  between  funk  and  exhilaration,  as 
we  moved  away  from  the  group  at  the  landing ;  it  was 
in  truth  his  first  canoe  ride.  The  tide  took  us  two  or 
three  miles  up  to  a  little'  stream  called  by  the  Indians 
Mushauau  Shebo,  Barren  Ground  River,  and  we  had  a 
good  start  by  luncheon  time,  when  our  leisurely  meal 
was  graced  by  an  excellent  piece  of  bear  meat  William 
had  given  us  to  start  on.  George  was  one  of  the  few 
white  men  of  the  region,  trimly  built,  of  a  sailor's 


FROM   DANIEL'S   HOUSE 


1 


LOOKING  ACROSS   DAVIS   INLET 


Indians  63 

handiness,  and  withal  talked  well  about  the  concerns  of 
the  coast  and  the  various  families  of  the  bays.  He  had 
traces  of  descent,  as  if  there  had  been  better  stock  some- 
where back.  The  stock  and  speech  of  the  region  are 
mostly  Devonshire.  Some  of  the  firstcomers,  who 
married  Eskimo  women  and  took  up  the  best  bays,  may 
have  been  men  who  were  turning  their  backs  on  a  past. 
"  Most  of  our  people  had  to  leave  England,"  remarked 
George  easily. 

Here  the  lower  ground  had  trees,  chiefly  spruce,  and 
the  portages  between  some  small  lakes  were  tangled  and 
without  a  visible  trail.  The  going  seemed  bad  to  me 
after  the  regular  Indian  paths  of  the  southern-slope 
rivers  I  was  used  to.  Caribou  paths  were  everywhere. 
The  last  of  the  migration  had  passed  north  about  a  week 
before  in  their  usual  way,  first  the  does  and  young  over 
the  hills,  afterward  the  old  stags  through  the  valleys. 
In  all  my  time  in  the  country  since  then  I  have  never  ob- 
served such  beaten  paths.  Sometimes  they  led  our  way 
and  we  followed  them,  always  to  have  them  split  up  be- 
fore long  and  disappear.  We  camped  at  the  head  of 
the"  last  lake,  on  a  good  beach,  where  Indians  had  had 
fire  before  us. 

From  there  there  was  no  boatable  water  for  some 
miles,  all  was  rough  land  work ;  the  valley  was  hot  and 
mosquitoes  active.  The  canoe  weighed  ninety-one  or, 
two,  and  with  the  paddles  and  a  few  odds  and  ends 
stuffed  in  carried  at  not  less  than  a  hundred.  The 
other  luggage  was  not  light ;  we  had  to  double  portage 
the  way,  and  took  even  three  loads  each  over  the 
rougher  places.  Until  the  third  day,  for  fear  of  effects 
on  George's  enthusiasm,  I  did  not  dare  to  let  him  carry 
the  canoe;  after  that,  as  he  had  done  pretty  well,  and  as 


64  Labrador 

I  thought  he  would  see  by  that  night  that  it  would  be 
easier  to  reach  water  ahead  than  behind,  I  gave  him 
his  chance  at  it.  When  night  came  the  place  where  we 
happened  to  camp  was  the  farthest  point  he  had  ever 
been  to  in  that  direction.  It  was  evident  that  not  more 
than  three  or  four  miles  ahead  there  must  be  a  stream, 
but  as  to  the  Indian  route  we  had  become  uncertain. 
Talking  at  William's,  George  had  professed  to  know 
just  where  the  Indians  went,  but  now  he  owned  that  he 
didn't  know,  and  I  was  decidedly  sharp  with  him. 
There  were  a  few  signs  of  Indians  along,  but  nothing 
to  show  regular  travel. 

The  night  went  well,  at  least  for  me.  Before 
breakfast  I  had  explored  ahead  for  a  mile,  found  good 
travel,  and  returned  very  cheerful.  George  was  wholly 
unresponsive  and  pretty  soon  began  to  talk,  his  voice 
quavered.  He  had  "  laid  awake  until  the  birds  were 
singing,"  thinking  about  things  ahead.  His  boots  were 
thin ;  his  shoulders  and  neck  were  cut  by  the  canoe ;  his 
family  might  be  in  trouble;  the  fishing  needed  him;  it 
was  hot,  and  the  flies  were  bad.  Finally,  and  there 
were  tears  in  his  voice,  "  You  will  go  over  to  the  river ! 
and  then  up  to  the  big  lake !  and  then  there  is  no  telling 
where  you  will  go !  "  Here  his  voice  reached  too  high 
a  pitch  and  broke.  It  was  certainly  a  bad  funk.  After 
I  told  him  he  could  go  back  if  he  wanted  to  his  voice 
gradually  recovered,  and  he  said  something  about  tak- 
ing my  rifle  for  his  pay.  The  final  touch  appeared 
when  he  remarked  that  he  had  only  agreed  to  go  for  a 
day  or  two.  This  was  just  too  much,  and  walking  up 
to  him  with  two  fists  I  induced  him  to  take  it  back. 
He  was  a  poor  thing,  and  probably  did  more  work  for 
me  those  three  days  than  in  any  three  days,  or  six, 


Indians  65 

before  or  since.  His  neighbors  told  me  afterward  that 
his  idea  in  starting  out  with  me  was  to  come  into  owner- 
ship of  the  rifle  after  the  trip  had  failed,  a  good  rifle 
being  something  like  a  fortune  there. 

He  departed,  and  I  felt  truly  better,  though  being 
left  alone  in  such  a  place  is  an  awkward  thing.  There 
seemed  nothing  for  it  but  to  keep  along  to  boatable 
water.  At  least  I  had  everything  I  wanted,  and  plenty 
of  time. 

Making  up  a  pack  about  equal  to  the  weight  of  the 
canoe,  and  abandoning  the  rest  of  the  outfit,  I  took  the 
load  ahead  a  few  hundred  yards;  then  going  back  to 
the  canoe  I  carried  it  on  past  the  pack  for  a  distance 
and  so  on  in  alternation.  Thus  the  pack  and  canoe 
were  never  very  far  apart  and  not  difficult  to  find. 
When  carrying,  one's  eyes  are  so  shut  in  under  the  canoe 
or  so  held  to  the  front  by  a  head  strap  that  one  does 
not  see  much  by  the  way,  and  if  the  rear  pack  is  very 
far  back  its  location  may  easily  be  lost  in  bad  ground. 

It  was  something  of  a  hard  day,  with  the  heat  and 
mosquitoes  and  a  few  loose  sand  banks  to  climb;  but 
like  Crusoe  in  his  lone  scrape  I  had  also  my  blessings 
—  peace  and  a  good  appetite,  and  now  and  then  a  rest, 
with  a  bit  to  eat  and  a  pipe.  Occasionally  through  the 
day  I  stopped  and  gave  a  long  whoop  —  for  the  benefit 
of  Indians,  if  any  were  passing  in  the  valley. 

About  four,  I  came  out  unexpectedly  on  a  high  es- 
carpment over  a  little  winding  river,  two  hundred  feet 
below ;  a  goodlier  sight  never  cheered  a  tired  portager. 
The  way  the  canoe  slid  down  that  high  sand  bank  on 
its  own  bottom  was  not  slow.  The  stream  is  known 
to  the  shore  people  as  Side  brook,  but  at  that  time  I 
supposed  it  to  be  what  is  known  as  Frank's  brook,  the 


66  Labrador 

river  of  the  Indians.  That  night  I  slept  under  the 
canoe  near  an  Indian  marked  tree.  It  rained  gently 
and  the  mosquitoes  for  a  good  way  around  came  under 
too,  although  they  did  not  get  inside  my  good  net.  The 
canoe  made  a  sounding-board  and  their  screeching  roar 
in  the  pent-up  place  was  almost  unendurable.  At  such 
times  it  is  hard  to  shake  off  the  fear  of  their  finally  get- 
ting at  one.  Their  vindictive  yells  are  beyond  all 
wolves.  "  We  are  going  to  get  you! "  is  their  burden. 
I  woke  many  times  with  nightmarish  starts,  and  made 
a  poor  night  of  it. 

Cutting  a  pole  in  the  morning  I  made  seven  or  eight 
miles  upstream,  caught  some  trout  at  a  falls  and 
lunched.  So  far  the  river  had  a  firm  velvet  bottom, 
with  some  three  feet  of  water  —  wonderful  poling. 
The  valley  was  now  close,  with  thick  alders,  and  I  was 
able  to  find  out  whether  the  Indians  traveled  there. 
Examination  of  the  tangled  banks  showed  that  they  had 
not,  and  I  was  in  a  quandary,  but  finally  looked  about 
for  a  high  observation  point.  A  mountain  at  hand 
looked  desperately  bushy,  and  was  steep,  but  on  getting 
to  it  I  struck  a  perfectly  easy  deer  path  leading  all  the 
way  up.  The  outlook,  my  first  wide  view  of  the  in- 
land, was  memorable.  Coming  from  west  was  a  broad, 
fine  river  that  evidently  the  Indians  must  follow,  with 
bold  hills  to  the  south  and  the  escarpment  of  a  high 
plateau  dropping  into  it  from  the  north.  Not  far  south- 
west, upon  the  stream  I  had  come  up,  was  a  beautiful 
round  lake  two  or  three  miles  across,  set  deep  in  the 
hills;  not  far  below  this  lake  the  river  turned  about 
north  and  slid  smoothly  but  white  down  a  slightly  slop- 
ing rock  face  some  fifty  feet  high.  The  extreme 
western  horizon  was  notched  by  a  rock-walled  lake  of 


Indians  67 

the  larger  river,  where  the  cliffs  had  impressiveness 
even  at  the  thirty  miles  distance,  and  there  were  high 
ridges  far  beyond.  This  was  all  the  interior  country 
I  saw  that  year,  still  it  extended  more  than  half  way 
from  the  coast  to  the  height  of  land. 

The  lake  at  the  head  of  the  small  river  was  so  tempt- 
ing that  I  thought  of  nothing  but  getting  up  to  it  and 
setting  out  my  little  gill  net  to  see  what  was  in  it,  and 
going  back  down  the  mountain  I  portaged  the  half 
mile  of  alder  banks  to  the  head  of  the  rapids.  In  the 
course  of  the  nasty  double  trip  I  lost  my  axe,  and  not 
caring  to  spend  much  time  looking  it  up,  I  left  the  place 
without  it.  At  any  rate  I  was  well  over  the  worst 
ground  on  the  way  to  the  lake,  and  sat  awhile  resting 
and  watching  some  good  trout  slapping  about  in  the 
smooth  water  at  the  head  of  the  rapid.  It  is  a  little 
curious,  by  the  way,  that  in  these  streams  of  size  the 
trout  seem  to  prefer  the  smooth  water  above  the  falls 
to  the  pools  below.  That  evening  they  were  good  to 
see,  clearing  the  water  here  and  there  with  assuring 
frequency.  But  as  I  meditated  upon  my  situation  it 
came  to  me  that  I  was  in  a  fair  way  to  miss  the  Indians 
altogether  if  I  went  on.  The  lay  of  the  country  was 
such  that  while  they  could  approach  the  coast  from 
almost  any  direction,  and  would  be  hard  to  find  at  best, 
this  particular  stream  led  from  a  pocket  in  the  hills 
which  was  quite  out  of  their  course.  There  was  some 
chance  of  my  meeting  them  somewhere  nearer  Opetik, 
but  the  sure  way  was  to  go  back  to  Davis  Inlet  and  wait. 
This  conclusion  was  not  to  be  avoided.  Rather  ill- 
naturedly  I  retraced  the  hard  little  portage,  dropped 
down  river  until  ten  o'clock,  when  the  sun  was  well 
down,  and  made  a  sky  camp,  i.e.,  boiled  a  kettle,  and  lay 


68  Labrador 

down  on  the  mossy  ground  alongside  the  fire.  The 
night  was  clear,  there  was  a  white  frost,  and  the  mos- 
quitoes slept  through  as  well  as  I.  It  was  a  night  for  a 
king ! 

There  was  no  real  darkness  on  clear  nights ;  one  could 
always  see  the  place  of  the  sun  at  midnight.  Always, 
when  it  was  clear,  the  northern  lights  were  visible,  mov- 
ing and  pausing,  and  in  many  weird  forms.  This  is 
their  latitude ;  in  the  far  North  they  are  rare.  To  one 
alone  in  the  wilderness  they  are  strangely  affecting. 

To  the  Indians  of  the  inland  they  are  spirits  of  the 
departed;  their  people  who  have  gone  before  are  danc- 
ing in  the  sky.  Some  have  heard  the  rustling  of  their 
wild  figures,  perhaps  in  truth. 

Once  again  they  rush  and  gather, 
Hands  around  they  swing  together, 
Robes  are  trailing  in  the  skyland. 

The  people's  belief  is  not  strange.  If  any  manifesta- 
tion of  the  inanimate  has  the  aspect  of  the  spiritual,  it 
is  this  presence  of  the  northern  nights. 

Fine  weather  persisted,  to  my  great  advantage  when 
I  reached  the  larger  waters.  There  was  not  much  land 
life ;  the  trip  had  been  nearly  birdless,  but  now  along  the 
stream  there  were  some  few  species.  A  white-winged 
crossbill  and  Canada  jays  of  the  darker  sort  were  plain 
to  identify.  A  lesser  sheldrake  appeared  sitting  on  a 
rock,  and  there  were  birds  of  the  finch  or  siskin  kind 
about  the  spruce  tops.  All  the  portages  seemed  bad; 
a  half-mile  one  just  below  where  I  first  came  to  the 
stream  I  remember  as  annoyingly  rough  and  tangled. 
I  suspect  that  now,  used  to  the  country,  they  would 
seem  pretty  good ;  still  I  was  doing  with  hundred-pound 


THE    NOAHS    SPLITTING    FISH,  TUHPUNGIUK  IN 
BACKGROUND 


UN'SEKAT 


Indians  69 

loads,  which  are  something  to  a  person  lately  from  town, 
and  more  than  have  often  fallen  to  me  since. 

The  matter  of  bad  footing  becomes  important  when 
one  is  alone,  for  an  injury  from  a  fall  is  perhaps  the 
accident  most  to  be  dreaded.  Water  dangers  are  hardly 
as  inevitable,  at  least  good  judgment,  which,  more- 
over, is  not  called  for  continuously,  meets  most  water 
situations  well.  But  any  footstep  in  bad  deceptive 
ground  may  cause  a  disabling  fall  to  a  heavily  loaded 
person.  In  the  case  of  two  men  together  the  water 
danger  is  the  greater  of  the  two.  Accident  and  illness 
are  not  pleasant  subjects  for  the  lone  traveler  to  think 
of.  Enough  things  have  happened.  There  was  old 
Jock  Knight,  a  trapper  on  the  Magalloway,  in  Maine, 
who  "  laid  out  "  in  a  hut  on  what  is  now  "  Jock's  pond," 
forty  days  with  erysipelas.  "  I  didn't  mind  dying  so 
much,  but  I  didn't  want  to  be  eaten  afterwards  by  the 
wild  animals!  I  had  fit  'em,  fit  'em  all  my  life  and 
didn't  want  them  to  eat  me"  He  was  drowned,  finally, 
when  alone.  There  are  tales  enough  of  the  sort.  The 
pack  is  perhaps  the  most  prevailing  enemy  of  the  lone 
traveler,  who  in  winter  almost  always  walks  on  the  ice, 
and  a  man  through  the  ice  with  a  pack  on  is  badly  off. 
Once,  though  this  is  another  story,  while  dragging  a 
deer  alone  on  the  ice  of  a  Maine  stream,  and  looking 
long  at  the  high  top  of  Katahdin,  I  walked  into  a 
perfectly  plain  open  hole.  Luckily  the  water  was  only 
four  feet  deep. 

Yet,  on  the  other  hand,  few  realize  how  different  is 
the  method  of  the  man  who  is  out  alone  from  that  of 
the  same  man  when  he  is  in  company.  Alone,  he  is 
deliberate,  careful,  circumspect;  in  company  compara- 
tively hasty  and  heedless,  his  senses  apt  to  be  clouded 


70  Labrador 

by  conversation.  The  number  of  persons,  chiefly  pro- 
fessional hunters,  who  are  habitually  much  alone  in  the 
wilderness,  is  very  large,  yet  I  believe  their  serious 
accidents  are  very  few  in  proportion,  perhaps  not  one 
in  ten;  surely  far  fewer  than  among  men  who  do  the 
same  things  with  companions.  Still  the  old  rule  of 
the  Narragansetts,  mentioned  by  Roger  Williams,  "  Do 
not  travel  far  alone  or  without  a  weapon,"  is  a  good 
one,  as  all  Indian  rules  are. 

Indian  lodge  poles  and  winter  scaffolds  at  the  head 
of  the  rapid  mentioned  indicated  snow  six  or  seven 
feet  deep.  The  scaffolds  were  placed  on  the  tops  of 
small  trees  cut  off  and  projected  enough  so  that  a 
wolverine  could  not  climb  over  the  edge.  Below  the 
rapid  the  stream  was  very  twisty  for  seven  or  eight 
miles  and  the  gravel  bars  yielded  to  sand.  It  was  early 
in  the  season ;  a  little  later  I  could  not  have  passed  with- 
out having  to  wade  down  the  shallows. 

Unexpectedly  I  emerged  from  between  highcut  sand 
banks  and  floated  out  upon  the  wide  main  river,  deep 
and  clear  and  the  bluest  water  I  ever  looked  into. 
After  actually  scraping  on  sand  bottom  so  long  it  seemed 
like  going  off  into  the  air.  This  fine  river  was  very 
wide,  in  truth  this  part  was  its  tidal  estuary,  although 
the  current  moved  well  and  the  water  was  perfectly 
fresh.  After  being  so  long  shut  in  I  felt  a  sort  of  shy- 
ness at  being  run  out  into  the  open,  at  finding  myself 
all  at  once  well  out  on  the  wide,  full-volumed  river. 
Lower,  near  a  rocky  point,  I  shot  a  large  loon  with  the 
rifle  and  at  last  had  meat. 

From  Side  brook  it  was  only  three  or  four  miles  to 
the  mouth  of  the  river.  A  bar  extended  a  mile  or  two 
into  a  great  bay,  with  endless  boulders  and  endless  gulls 


Indians  71 

ipon  them  —  blackbacks  and  herring  gulls.  They  made 
great  uproar  as  I  turned  seaward  on  the  half  tide.  The 
open  sea  was  all  of  twenty  miles  away.  Far  away,  just 
inside  the  coast  line,  the  water  horizon  at  the  entrance  of 
the  bay  was  broken  by  a  pointed  conical  island,  at  that 
distance  nearly  hull  down.  It  was  a  marvelously  calm, 
dreamy  day,  yet  cool,  such  as  only  that  coast  knows. 
There  were  ducks  in  every  bight,  white-wing  coots  and 
sheldrakes;  sea  pigeons  skurried  about,  and  the  only 
sound  over  the  broad  inlet,  after  the  gulls  had  ceased 
their  cries,  was  the  recurring  hum  and  spatter  of  wings. 
Near  ten  miles  down  was  the  Kudlituk,  a  landmark 
perhaps  a  thousand  feet  high;  its  northeast  corner  is 
square  and  rises  perpendicularly  from  the  talus  to  a 
great  height.  It  is  one  of  the  least  mistakable  land- 
marks of  the  region.  A  hundred  white-backed  eiders 
were  sitting  along  its  base  on  large  boulders.  As  I 
came  on  they  would  jump  off  like  bullfrogs,  bound  up 
again  from  the  water  and  off  on  the  wing.  It  was  a 
funny,  unbirdlike  performance.  Not  one,  I  think,  flew 
directly  from  his  rock. 

As  Opetik  is  chosen  of  the  loons,  so  is  this  greater  and 
even  finer  bay  the  place  of  that  prince  of  his  line,  the 
eider.  Around  the  rock  points  comes  their  grand  rush, 
twenty  or  forty  abreast,  heads  slightly  tilted  down  and 
white  backs  gleaming  in  the  sun.  They  keep  to  the 
rock  shores,  leaving  the  beaches  of  the  upper  bay  to 
the  commoner  ducks  and  the  geese  of  early  fall.  Later 
the  eider  seeks  the  far  outer  islands.  Mainly  his  life 
is  seaward;  his  northern  title,  Seaduck,  bears  he  well. 

Before  reaching  the  Kudlituk  I  had  unknowingly 
passed  John  Voisey's  house,  a  small  affair.  It  was 
weathered  well  to  invisibility,  and  moreover  to  have  seen 


72  Labrador 

it  I  had  to  look  backward  and  into  the  sun.  He  saw 
the  canoe,  but  thought  I  must  be  an  Indian  and  kept 
snug.  He  found  out  later  that  he  had  missed  a  white 
visitor,  and  the  next  year  when  I  came  along,  not  to 
take  any  chances  of  losing  a  caller,  his  little  seaward 
gable  had  been  painted  red.  No  one  on  that  coast 
means  to  lose  any  of  the  passing. 

Somewhere  past  Kudlituk  the  sun  went  down,  the 
sky  became  dull,  and  darkish  night  came  on.  By  ten, 
with  sea  breeze  and  tide  opposing,  it  wras  tired,  weary 
work  getting  on  with  a  single  paddle.  The  tides  about 
Kudlituk  are  apt  to  worry  a  stranger;  as  nearly  as  I 
can  understand  them  they  chase  themselves  around  and 
around  the  island,  regardless  of  rules.  It  was  eight 
when  I  left  the  rock,  eleven  when  I  landed  on  some 
smooth  moss  ground  six  or  eight  miles  away.  For  an 
hour  or  two  I  strained  my  eyes  to  the  intersection  of  a 
far  point  to  port  with  a  rock  line  farther  away,  to  make 
out  whether  I  was  gaining  or  not.  It  took  a  long  time, 
in  the  tidal  bobble  and  breeze,  to  see  any  change  at  all. 
One  is  apt  to  work  too  long  when  there  are  only  three  or 
four  hours  of  darkness.  But  supper  and  pipe  and  bed 
were  good  that  night.  The  mosquitoes  were  not ;  the 
salt  water  ones  seem  more  desperately  vicious  than  those 
of  the  high  ground,  though  a  trifle  smaller.  Protected 
by  the  smoke,  I  lay  by  the  fire  in  great  content  for 
some  time  before  turning  in,  and  boiled  the  loon. 

With  the  morning  of  the  21st  another  calm,  wonder- 
ful day  came  on.  In  a  couple  of  easy  miles  I  cleared 
the  bay  and  could  turn  southward.  The  way  had  been 
simple  until  now,  but  although  I  knew  that  some  twenty 
miles  south  were  waters  I  had  seen  before,  the  way  was 
by  no  means  plain.     To  the  east,  beyond  a  few  islands, 


Indians  73 

a  water  horizon  with  bergs  showed  there  was  only  sea 
beyond.  Southeastward  indefinite  passages  led  also  to 
sea;  obviously  they  were  a  last  resort.  Southward, 
where  I  wanted  to  go,  a  high,  firm  rock  sky  line,  ten 
or  twelve  miles  away,  was  continuous,  with  no  hint 
of  passage.  While  the  weather  lasted  I  could  of  course 
try  the  bays  one  by  one  for  a  way  through,  but  my  rate 
of  speed  was  slow  at  best,  and  there  might  be  all  sorts 
of  tide  currents,  as  indeed  there  were.  It  was  most  on 
my  mind  that  the  weather  could  not  safely  be  counted 
on,  it  was  too  fine  to  last.  To  be  trapped  in  some  deep 
bay  for  a  week  or  two,  unable  to  get  out  against  the 
wind,  would  be  rather  stiff;  worse  still  to  be  driven  up 
on  one  of  the  smaller  islands;  they  looked  waterless 
as  the  moon.  A  very  moderate  head  wind  would  stop 
me,  for  a  single  paddle  to  a  heavy  canoe  is  futility  itself 
against  wind  and  sea.  The  water  question  need  not 
have  concerned  me,  for,  as  I  came  to  know,  there  is 
sure  to  be  a  little  anywhere. 

A  good  deal  of  physical  wear  goes  with  the  first 
onset  into  such  a  trip.  It  usually  happens  that  three 
stiffish  days  of  lake-and-portage  work  are  about  as 
much  as  the  person  of  ordinary  town  habits  can  do  and 
not  feel  stale;  the  fourth  day  there  is  a  falling  off. 
Now  the  morning  I  passed  out  of  Voisey's  bay  I  had 
taken  more  wear  out  of  myself  for  some  days  than  the 
short  mosquito-devilled  nights  could  possibly  make 
good.  In  fact  he  would  be  a  good  traveler  who  could 
keep  up  that  sort  of  thing  from  fourteen  to  eighteen 
hours  a  day  on  any  terms,  even  without  hurrying, 
But  for  me  the  temptation  of  those  endless  perfect  days 
had  been  hard  to  resist,  and  I  had  done  too  much.  It 
was  the  fourth  day  since  I  had  seen  a   face;  people 


74  Labrador 

began  to  seem  a  myth.  How  would  Eskimo  behave  if 
I  came  to  any?  All  was  singularly  beautiful,  inspir- 
ing, but  strange  as  another  planet. 

The  first  island  east  was  pretty  high,  so  I  held  over 
to  it  and  walked  to  the  top  for  a  look  at  the  channels. 
Curiously,  while  I  was  walking  I  turned  to  speak  to 
some  one  who  was  close  over  my  left  shoulder.  Of 
course  no  one  was  there.  The  incident  was  repeated 
two  or  three  times,  without  the  least  variation  of  the 
impression.  Once  on  the  water  again  my  friend  left 
me. 

Starving  people  who  are  walking  continuously  are 
apt  to  talk  to  imaginary  persons,  and  some  who  get 
lost  in  the  woods,  even  for  a  short  time,  find  it  hard 
to  separate  the  real  things  from  others.  Before  leav- 
ing home  I  had  been  seeing  many  people  constantly, 
and  the  habit  told.  Now,  the  fourth  day  alone,  I 
began  to  wish  almost  any  sort  of  person  would  turn 
up.  It  may  be  well  to  say  that  my  peculiar  experience 
on  the  island  never  recurred,  and  during  a  good  deal 
of  solitary  travel  in  succeeding  years  I  was  steadier, 
if  anything,  than  when  in  company. 

Turning  down  the  broad  water  which  closes  in  near 
the  site  of  the  former  mission  station  of  Zoar,  I  was 
not  long  without  more  substantial  society.  Four  or 
five  grampuses  were  circling  about  two  or  three  miles 
down;  in  the  stillness  I  could  soon  hear  the  loud  sigh 
they  make  on  coming  to  the  surface.  Their  backs  are 
tremendously  arched,  almost  like  the  rim  of  a  large 
wheel.  Not  much  of  their  length  shows  at  a  time, 
but  more  keeps  coming  as  the  first  part  disappears, 
until  the  effect  of  a  revolving  wheel  is  complete. 

I  watched  constantly   for  some  tide  movement,  a 


SUMMER   PTARMIGAN 


WINTER  PTARMIGAN 


Indians  75 

difficult  thing  to  detect  in  such  wide  waters.  As  the 
tide  was  falling  a  set  toward  a  bay  would  point  to  a 
passage  through  beyond;  an  outward  flow  might  be 
indecisive.  There  seemed  a  faint  showing  in  favor  of 
keeping  south,  and  I  held  that  way. 

Before  long  one  of  the  grampuses  showed  his  back  a 
hundred  yards  ahead,  with  a  course  which  promised  to 
take  him  quite  near,  and  hoping  for  a  shot  I  knelt  with 
the  rifle  and  waited.  I  wanted  to  see  what  kind  of  a 
beast  a  grampus  was.  Presently  a  hollow  as  of  the 
palm  of  one's  hand,  but  five  or  six  feet  across,  appeared 
moving  swiftly  along,  with  the  tip  of  a  fin  cutting  along 
in  the  middle.  The  beast  was  in  a  good  way  to  come 
up  for  a  broadside  shot  at  fifteen  feet  as  it  passed,  and 
I  made  ready.  But  things  did  not  go  as  they  promised. 
At  thirty  feet  ahead  the  fin  swerved  and  came  straight 
for  the  canoe.  Desperately  I  dropped  the  rifle,  rather 
uselessly  seized  the  paddle  and  made  a  side  dive. 
Grampuses  are  given  to  breaching,  and  although  they 
are  perfectly  amiable,  I  was  afraid  that  once  under  the 
canoe  the  beast  would  get  excited  and  send  everything 
into  the  air.  It  was  a  mile  to  shore  and  the  water  was 
ice  water.  Nothing  happened;  he  must  have  gone 
silently  down,  but  I  was  glad  to  be  alone  again.  For 
a  moment  I  had  rather  a  sensation.  They  are  big 
enough  to  do  anything,  often  thirty  feet  long  and  stoutly 
built ;  it  is  not  a  bad  thing  to  knock  on  the  canoe  when 
they  are  nearer  than  one  likes.  The  bay  people  do  not 
care  for  actual  contact  with  them,  though  their  boats 
are  fairly  large. 

Still  another  turn  in  affairs  was  coming.  Soon, 
while  moving  absently  along,  I  seemed  to  catch  the 
sound  of  a  far  voice,  away  in  the  west.     Turning  that 


76  Labrador 

way  for  a  time  it  came  again,  I  must  say  it  had  an  at- 
tractive sound,  and  keeping  on  a  little  I  saw  a  black 
speck  moving  on  the  beach.  This  grew  to  be  a  black 
dog;  then  some  trout  puncheons  came  into  view,  a  hu- 
man token,  and  as  I  landed  an  old  Eskimo  appeared  and 
descended  to  the  little  beach.  I  got  out  and  met  him. 
He  had  little  English  and  we  had  a  hard  time  begin- 
ning.    His  name  was  Abel. 

"  Come  schooner  ?  " 

"  No,  inland,"  I  said,  and  pointed  west.  No  one 
ever  came  from  there,  he  knew,  and  he  looked  worried ; 
I  was  not  telling  the  truth.  Not  much  more  was  said. 
As  we  talked  the  tinkle  of  a  tin  kettle  came  from  the 
canoe,  and  looking  back  I  saw  a  large  dog  walking  away 
with  my  boiled  loon  across  his  mouth,  showing  his  side 
teeth  at  the  other  dogs,  who  were  close  along  but  did 
not  dare  to  take  hold.     I  was  out  of  meat. 

Old  Abel  looked  awhile  into  the  new  canoe,  with  its 
handsome  varnished  cedar  lining,  finally  saying,  "  Fine 
kayak !  "  Presently  came  three  or  four  women  with  a 
good  catch  of  sea  trout  in  a  "  flat,"  a  little  dory-like 
skiff.  It  was  their  voices  I  had  heard,  behind  the  island, 
shouting  and  laughing  about  the  net  as  the  big  trout 
splashed  them.  Three  of  them  were  Eskimo  beyond 
disguise ;  the  other  was  not  very  dark  and  spoke  English, 
though  with  effort  and  as  if  long  disused.  Her  hus- 
band, old  Abel's  son,  Antone,  was  away  at  the  post. 
Yes,  there  was  a  passage,  a  rattle,  at  the  end  of  this 
water.  They  were  uneasy,  and  soon  went  to  split- 
ting the  fish.  I  relinquished  an  unannounced  plan  of 
dining  with  them,  but  remarked  that  they  ought  to  give 
me  a  fish,  as  their  dog  had  taken  my  meat.  "  You  can 
have  two,"  with  an  inflection  which  meant,  "  if  you  will 


Indians  77 

only  go  away  " ;  but  one  six-pound  trout  was  certainly 
enough.  In  an  experienced  way  Mrs.  Antone  pricked 
its  back  with  the  point  of  a  knife  to  test  its  fatness  and 
quality.  They  need  not  have  been  afraid,  their  eleven 
dogs  would  have  finished  me  in  a  moment.  Rather 
soon  I  put  off.  Some  way  off  they  called  out  something 
about  taking  the  little  rattle,  but  I  did  not  go  back  to  talk 
it  over.  The  stillness  was  suddenly  broken,  a  little  later, 
by  a  huge  thunder  sound  from  seaward,  behind  the 
islands.  A  silence  of  some  seconds  followed,  then  a 
rending,  broken  roar.  A  loud  shout  came  from  the 
Eskimo  behind.  For  ten  minutes  the  affair  went  on, 
an  invisible  phenomenon  of  great  impressiveness  in  the 
peace  and  stillness  of  the  day.  It  was  only  a  berg 
foundering  outside,  but  the  air  was  so  transparent  to 
sound  at  the  time  that  its  being  at  least  two  or  three 
miles  away  seemed  incredible.  I  would  have  given 
much  to  see  it  happen.  A  Newfoundlander  has  told 
me  that  once  a  wave  from  a  foundering  berg  in  one 
of  their  great  bays  washed  a  man  off  a  rock  seven  miles 
away ! 

I  had  gathered  a  dry  pole  from  a  beach  somewhere 
back,  leaving  the  roots  on  in  default  of  an  axe.  Now, 
with  a  slight  breeze,  I  used  it  for  a  mast,  the  luggage 
piled  effectively  upon  the  spreading  roots ;  but  the  breeze 
died.  At  the  end  of  the  bay  were  high  rocks  and  a  pas- 
sage a  few  hundred  yards  wide.  Passing  along  peace- 
fully in  glassy  water  I  suddenly  noticed  that  the  shores 
were  flying  back  at  the  rate  of  some  fourteen  miles  an 
hour,  and  almost  at  once  the  place  became  torn  by  most 
astonishing  cross-currents  and  whirlpools.  Just  ahead 
two  whirlpools  lay  like  a  pair  of  spectacles.  I  skimmed 
the  edges  of  both.     Nothing  but  the  elusive  model  of 


78  Labrador 

the  boat,  with  a  bit  of  help  at  the  right  time,  saved  the 
day.  She  was  a  living  waterfowl  in  such  water,  that 
boat.  Everything  thrashed  about  for  a  few  hundred 
yards,  when  the  canoe  shot  out  suddenly  into  still  water, 
almost  at  right  angles  to  my  course  of  beginning. 

The  day  seemed  to  be  holding  out  well  as  to  inciden- 
tals. This  was  the  Big  Rattle,  where  a  large  salt  water 
lake,  several  miles  across,  has  to  fill  by  a  narrow,  bent 
channel  in  a  very  short  time.  In  extreme  tides  the 
manifestations  of  the  place  are  amazing.  The  Little 
Rattle  is  an  inoffensive  passage  near  by  on  the  east, 
fairly  swift  at  times  but  never  acrobatic. 

There  is  one  other  channel  leading  into  the  lake,  small 
and  dry  at  low  tide.  There  the  inflow  was  coming  in  so 
strong  that  I  went  ashore  and  boiled  the  big  trout  while 
waiting  for  the  current  to  ease.  It  was  my  first  ample, 
deliberate  meal  for  some  days.  But  one  cannot  travel 
hard  and  eat  correspondingly.  Once  in  a  while  when 
steady  on  the  road  a  great  meal  may  do,  but  one  must 
not  let  out  that  way  too  often. 

The  rest  of  the  day  was  true  to  type  for  the  region ; 
breezes  wandered  this  way  and  that  way,  ahead,  behind, 
and  across,  with  calms  between.  Miles  from  shore, 
sometimes,  a  calm  spot  would  be  well  taken  up  by  mos- 
quitoes. My  gloves  were  an  inch  short,  and  my  wrists 
arrived  at  a  curious  sandpaper  complexion;  they  must 
have  had  a  thousand  bites  in  the  course  of  a  week. 

By  eleven  that  night  I  fetched  up  on  the  south  side 
of  Opetik,  not  far  from  the  house  of  George.  It  was 
hard  to  find  a  place  to  sleep,  on  the  steep  rocks,  but  there 
was  wood,  and  supper  over  I  tried  a  slope  of  small 
stones,  like  crusher  stone,  but  found  myself  slipping 
down  again  and  again  most  uncomfortably.     It  was  a 


Indians  79 

miserable  place.  Mosquitoes,  one  at  a  time,  managed 
to  get  under  my  net.  About  one  o'clock  I  looked  out 
and  dawn  was  gaining  in  the  east;  out  of  patience  I 
threw  off  the  blanket  and  net.  There  was  no  use  trying 
to  sleep  and  I  started  a  fire,  sitting  over  it.  When  the 
smoke  rose  and  parted  the  mosquitoes  I  fell  forward, 
instantly  asleep,  but  wrenched  myself  awake  before  my 
face  struck  the  firewood.  For  twenty  minutes  this  tor- 
ture went  on  in  really  painful  recurrence ;  later,  after  a 
bite  and  some  strong  tea,  I  paddled  slowly  over  to 
George's,  a  couple  of  miles,  feeling  in  truth  pretty 
slack.  George  heard  the  dogs  —  it  was  three  o'clock  — 
and  put  his  head  out.  I  had  felt  a  touch  of  responsi- 
bility about  him,  he  might  have  had  an  accident  and  not 
reached  home. 

He  had  not  had  a  happy  time  of  it.  Reaching  Opetik 
river  that  day  he  had  made  a  smoke,  the  neighborhood 
signal  for  a  boat.  The  Edmundses  thought  we  had 
come  back  and  were  camping  there,  so  paid  no  attention 
as  we  had  the  canoe.  That  night  it  rained,  the  night 
I  got  under  the  canoe  on  Side  brook,  and  George  had 
to  tough  it  out.  It  was  afternoon  the  next  day,  I 
think,  before  he  was  taken  over.  When  the  neighbors 
heard  his  story  they  were  near  the  lynching  point  at 
what  he  had  done,  being  themselves  of  a  different  sort, 
and  forseeing,  moreover,  a  bad  job  hunting  me  up. 
Mrs.  G.,  another  sort  too,  was  relieved  to  see  me.  With 
George  himself  I  had  little  talk;  he  said  something 
about  having  gone  along  if  his  boots  had  not  been  thin. 

Mrs.  G.  did  me  as  well  as  she  could ;  after  a  second 
breakfast  I  got  something  of  a  nap,  but  had  been  too 
long  without  sleep  and  soon  turned  out  again. 

It  had  been  reported  from  the  post  that  Cotter  was 


80  Labrador 

going  to  Spracklin's  with  his  little  schooner  the  next 
morning;  accordingly  Johnny  Edmunds  and  George 
were  going  down  at  once  with  trout.  In  time  we 
started;  it  was  hot  and  calm,  and  though  we  rowed 
and  sculled  as  we  could  it  was  slow  going.  I  missed 
a  good  black  bear  on  the  way.  It  is  possible  that  the 
jacketed  bullet  rode  the  very  oily  lands  in  the  barrel 
and  went  high,  for  I  never  held  better.  The  disgrace 
of  the  episode  was  unpleasant.  At  midnight  our  pro- 
spects were  bad,  with  fifteen  miles  to  go.  Then  I 
slumped,  done  up,  stretched  myself  on  a  pile  of  pickled 
trout,  and  slept  real  sleep  again  at  last.  It  was  certainly 
time.  Once  I  woke  enough  to  feel  the  boat  careened 
and  driving  at  a  great  pace.  A  north  wind  had  come 
on,  by  five  we  were  at  the  Inlet.  Cotter  had  not  started 
and  there  was  time  to  eat  and  get  ready  before  putting 
off  with  him.  We  had  a  blue  and  white  run,  above  and 
below,  to  the  Cape  Harbor  —  a  late  start  and  an  early 
landing.  There  is  such  a  thing  as  having  had  enough 
of  fray,  and  through  the  trip  I  sat  below  deck  with 
Cotter  in  full  content,  without  looking  out  that  I  re- 
member. 

Things  had  happened  well;  after  all,  there  is  some- 
thing in  making  the  most  of  favoring  weather.  In  a 
white  northwester  a  canoe  is  not  the  thing  among  these 
high  shores,  for  one  can  never  tell  where  gusts  will 
come  from.  The  tide  crotches  bobble  and  kick  up  into 
three-cornered  seas ;  in  funnel  passages  the  waves  drive 
up  yeasty,  and  ugly  drives  of  wind  shoot  out  from  the 
steeper  rocks.  It  is  best  for  little  craft  to  keep  very 
near  such  shores,  or  very  far  away. 

The  Cape  harbor  where  we  landed  is  west  from 
Fanny's,  divided  from  it  by  a  thousand  yards  of  easy 


Indians  81 

low  ground.  The  distance  around  outside  is  several 
miles,  for  Fanny's  looks  east  and  the  Cape  harbor  west 
and  north.  Cotter  had  come  down  for  salt  which 
Spracklin  had  stored  for  him  at  the  Cape. 

The  Spracklins  had  fish;  namely,  cod.  Nothing  is 
fish  to  a  Newfoundlander  but  cod  —  cod  alone.  Sal- 
mon are  salmon,  trout  are  trout,  the  same  with  herring, 
caplin,  and  the  rest ;  but  to  him  cod  only  is  Fish.  He 
may  go  fishing  for  any  of  these,  for  almost  anything 
that  swims,  for  to  him  life  is  fishing,  but  he  would 
hardly  use  the  word  unqualified  of  anything  but  cod. 
Never  intimate  to  him  that  his  Fish  is  not  the  most 
game  of  all  its  kind  —  indeed  its  tail  kicks  the  surface 
in  acres  sometimes,  and  it  will  take  a  fly  —  nor  that 
the  rock-cod  is  much  above  the  sculpin. 

The  great  beds  of  fish  which  once  lay  on  the  surface 
in  sheltered  waters  are  only  a  tradition  now  ;  either  there 
are  fewer  fish,  or  the  traps  cut  them  off  outside;  the 
wholesale  work  of  the  cod  trap  has  had  its  effect  in 
one  way  or  the  other.  In  old  days  a  buoy  or  box 
thrown  over  would  be  attacked  with  vigor  by  the  fish. 
Caplin  were  scarce;  now,  the  balance  of  nature  dis- 
turbed, their  enemy  absent,  they  swarm  the  waters  at 
times,  their  eggs  pile  in  windrows  on  the  beaches. 
Salt,  enough  salt  for  the  fish,  was  the  only  concern  of 
the  bay  people  then,  the  fish  were  sure  and  came  well 
up  into  the  bays.  They  are  intercepted  now  with  the 
salmon  that  used  to  come  to  the  rivers.  The  people 
still  have  the  rock-cod,  largely  a  winter  fish.  The 
locked  bays  of  winter  are  safe  from  the  schooners. 

So  with  the  sea  birds  of  the  old  days,  the  myriads 
that  filled  the  air  in  the  time  of  Audubon.  The 
number  of  schooners  that  go  north  has  crept   from 


82  Labrador 

a  few  hundred  up  to  three  thousand,  each  with 
several  guns;  their  crews,  men  and  boys,  are  intimate 
with  the  habits  of  the  creature  life  of  the  coast;  little 
is  willingly  spared.  They  know  where  to  find  the 
eggs;  they  can  handle  well  the  heavy  seal  guns.  But 
at  least  nothing  is  wasted ;  they  use  all,  and  betimes  the 
*  inexhaustible  north  "  replenishes  somewhat  the  supply. 

The  Spracklins  had  a  few  hundred  quintals  (said 
"  kintle  ")  of  fish,  taken  in  the  last  few  days.  Cotter 
hurried  back  with  his  load  of  salt,  for  his  schooner  was 
leaking,  and  drowned  salt  runs  away.  The  weather 
turned  totally  bad  (vide  moral  for  travelers :  make  the 
most  of  good  weather),  and  Skipper  Tom  being  short 
handed  I  did  what  I  could  on  the  fish  stage.  My  vaca- 
tion time  was  fairly  up,  three  to  five  weeks  was  what 
I  had  counted  on;  it  would  be  nearer  seven  before  I 
could  get  home.     The  mailboat  was  about  due. 

My  function  at  the  stage  was  "  tending  table,"  pitch- 
forking fish  from  the  pen  to  the  table,  also  wheeling 
away  the  barrows  of  split  fish  to  be  piled,  but  though 
mine  was  the  humblest  role  of  all,  even  at  that  I  won 
more  in  the  way  of  appetite  and  ability  to  sleep  nights 
on  my  folded  lance-net  bed  than  of  distinction.  "  There 
is  tending  and  tending/'  said  one  of  the  crew  apropos  of 
my  efforts.  They  not  only  wanted  me  to  keep  the  fish 
coming,  but  to  place  them  so  as  to  be  conveniently  seized 
—  reasonably  enough.  Their  whole  season's  catch  may 
come  in  a  few  days.  Then  the  crew  works  pretty  well 
around  the  clock.  Ellen,  the  young  woman  who 
cooked,  and  well  indeed,  for  ten  persons,  who  kept  the 
house  clean  and  in  order,  and  did  washing,  and  kept 
neat,  and  came  with  a  run  and  a  jump  when  called,  also 
worked  at  the  fish  table  evenings  and  at  odd  times. 


Indians  83 

Stout  little  Jane,  beaming  with  wily  Spracklin's  praise, 
stood  for  incredible  hours  enveloped  in  her  big  apron, 
cutting  and  tearing,  cutting  and  tearing,  stopping 
scarcely  for  meals.  Four  hours'  sleep  the  crew  were 
getting  then.  Poor  Spracklin,  his  arms  and  wrists  set 
with  fish  boils,  "  pups  "  in  the  vernacular,  slept  with  his 
bandaged  arms  raised  clear  of  all  touch,  in  his  face  the 
look  of  the  overworn.  Yet  all  were  cheerful;  the  fish 
were  on.  Many  a  fisherman  on  shore  or  schooner  sees 
no  fish.  Then  they  live  scantily,  biscuit  and  tea,  bis- 
cuit and  tea,  and  not  the  best;  their  little  pork  is 
precious.  We  see  them  in  passing  on  the  mailboat. 
They  are  strong  men,  but  their  eyes  grow  absent  as  the 
season  wanes,  and  their  women's.  No  wonder  they 
hunt  the  islands. 

The  foul  weather  lasted  three  or  four  days ;  ice  came 
in,  the  nets  were  damaged,  and  it  became  too  rough 
for  the  fishing.  I  turned  to  outrigging  the  canoe  for 
rowing,  using  for  a  rowlock  a  single  wood  pin  with  a 
rope  withe,  the  Newfoundlander's  shooting  rig.  The 
arrangement  is  silent,  the  oars  can  be  dropped  along- 
side without  going  adrift,  and  they  row  well.  The  pins 
were  forty-four  inches  apart,  a  fair  spread  for  seven 
and  a  half  foot  oars;  these  last  I  got  out  of  long  oars 
of  Spracklin's  that  were  past  use,  making  their  blades 
as  narrow  as  four  inches,  for  the  sea  work. 

That  canoe,  eighteen  feet  by  thirty-three  inches,  could 
be  pushed  up  to  a  speed  of  near  or  quite  six  miles  an 
hour  when  so  rigged,  carrying  a  hundred  pounds  of  bag- 
gage; and  with  the  rower  sitting  five  or  six  inches  from 
the  bottom,  his  back  close  against  the  middle  bar,  would 
take  irregular  and  trying  seas  in  a  perfectly  unbelievable 
way.     The  fishermen  were  naturally  skeptical  about 


84  Labrador 

canoes  for  coast  travel,  and  had  me  on  their  minds;  no 
one  in  such  places  likes  to  see  foolish  risks  taken;  Skip- 
per Jim,  in  particular,  made  predictions.  But  later  on 
I  happened  to  be  outside  one  day  when  the  crew  were 
hauling  a  trap.  It  was  true  "  codfish  weather  " —  fog, 
the  wind  on  the  shore,  the  air  rawness  itself.  A  sea 
was  coming  in,  making  with  the  backwash  from  the 
rocks  a  very  broken  "  lop."  Toward  taking  a  camera 
snap  at  the  operation  going  on  I  threw  a  short  line  over 
a  pin  in  the  other  boat  and  let  my  craft  pivot  about  as 
she  liked.  Spracklin  looked  my  way  now  and  then,  but 
said  nothing.  Going  back  I  led  them  in,  of  course,  for 
they  were  loaded.  At  dinner  something  was  said  about 
the  canoe,  and  I  remarked  to  Spracklin,  "  You  see  she 
will  do  almost  what  a  dory  will."  "  She'll  do  what  a 
dory  won't!"  he  returned,  and  no  one  bothered  about 
me  after  that. 

As  the  days  went  we  wondered  about  the  mailboat; 
she  might  be  on  the  bottom.  When  at  last  the  weather 
turned  fine  the  invitation  of  it  became  too  much,  and  of 
an  afternoon  I  rowed  for  Davis  Inlet.  Beyond  the 
Cape  islands  is  a  stretch  of  fiat  shoals,  and  before  I 
quite  got  my  bearings  a  long  sweeper  gathered,  broke, 
and  ran  by  with  a  wicked  scream.  Anything  but  flat 
shoals  and  a  swell  on  a  falling  tide!  These  occasional 
reminders  are  chastening.  But  it  was  a  different  matter 
now  from  working  slowly  along  with  one  paddle,  the 
butt  of  everything  that  came.  Now  the  sure  ability  to 
pull  away  from  any  lee  shore,  to  drive,  if  slowly,  into  a 
white-topped  sea,  put  a  new  face  on  things.  One  needs 
to  feel  the  master  in  these  matters.  There  was  no  more 
wondering  whether  I  was  gaining  or  going  back,  no 
more  desperate   holding  to  the  gusts   that   strove  to 


SPRACKLIN 


COD 


Indians  85 

broach.  Now  only  the  easy  swing  to  the  oars;  there 
was  no  swerving,  the  canoe  ran  true.  It  was  singular 
how  slight  a  shifting  of  a  pack  fore  or  aft  with  the  feet 
counteracted  the  wind  push  to  the  right  or  left.  The 
canoe  did  the  rest,  meeting,  balancing,  lifting  over,  a 
creature  water  bred.  She  passed  into  other  hands  when 
I  left  that  year,  and  was  finally  wrecked.  Never  was 
her  like. 

There  was  a  drawback,  a  real  disadvantage  :  one  could 
not  see  ahead.  Ducks  and  sea  pigeons  squttered  from 
under  the  bow,  seals  sank  silently  and  unperceived ;  gulls 
moved  on  and  kept  away.  I  missed  their  companion- 
ship, and  sometimes  the  meal  they  might  have  furnished. 
One  has  to  turn  and  look  ahead  now  and  then  for  shoals 
and  landmarks,  but  the  neck  rebels  as  the  hours  go  on, 
the  rhythm  of  the  oars  in  calm  days  makes  the  thoughts 
drowse  and  drift  far  away,  the  low,  slow  swell  makes 
all  for  dreams.  Well  if  the  ear  catch  chuck  of  wave 
on  rock  or  ice  in  time;  sooner  or  later  a  reminding 
scrape  or  thump  is  sure  to  come. 

One  needs  to  see  ahead;  going  backward  is  a  crude 
way.  For  years  I  had  it  in  mind  that  bow  facing  oars 
should  be  the  thing,  and  too  late,  in  19 10,  tried- them 
out  in  home  waters.  They  were  the  thing  indeed ;  they 
were  as  fast  as  any  oars,  as  easy  to  use,  and  I  rued  the 
years  I  had  needlessly  gone  without  them. 

It  was  calm  throughout  the  day.  Four  or  five  gram- 
puses circled  about,  but  not  near  enough  for  intimacy; 
they  are  semi-solitary,  for  though  common  enough  I 
have  never  seen  more  than  five  in  a  bay  at  once,  and 
these  scattered  about.  Most  others  of  the  whale  kind 
seem  inclined  to  go  in  families.  A  dense  flock  of 
"  ticklers,"  the  charming  kittiwakes,  came  close  about 


86  Labrador 

my  shoulders.  If  the  fishermen  knock  one  down  the 
others  stay  close  about  and  are  easy  victims.  They 
hover  about  the  fish  schools,  indeed  the  occasional  flick 
of  a  cod's  tail  explained  their  presence  now.  According 
to  the  fishermen  it  is  small,  oily  bubbles  rising  from  the 
fish  that  the  ticklers  are  after.  How  these  are  pro- 
duced, though  they  may  be  from  the  caplin  and  other 
prey  seized  and  mangled  by  the  cod,  does  not  certainly 
appear. 

It  is  the  sounds,  perhaps,  more  than  the  sights,  that 
rouse  one  dreaming  along  through  the  spaces  of  these 
endless  mirrored  days.  They  simulate  more  familiar 
ones.  The  raven's  first  croak  may  come  through  the 
rippling  of  the  dividing  bow  as  the  distant  bark  of  a 
dog  that,  is  not;  the  "  wailing  waby's  lonely  cries," 
from  desolate  bays,  as  the  voice  of  some  forsaken  ani- 
mal afar.  From  somewhere  ahead  comes  a  perfect 
human  hail,  "  Ah,  there !  " —  and  one  turns  involunta- 
rily to  see  who  has  called,  but  it  is  only  a  pair  of  the 
great  blackbacks  that  have  launched  from  some  high 
nesting  place  and  come  in  apprehension  to  meet  and 
protest  their  misgivings.  Strange  it  is  to  have  revealed 
the  undreamed  pairing-time  vocabulary  of  this  beauti- 
ful but  silent  winter  visitor  of  our  shores.  From  my 
diary,  "  The  great  saddle-back  gulls  hailed  from  a  dis- 
ance,  anxious  for  their  young  on  the  islands,  and  wheel- 
ing over  with  a  surprising  vocabulary  of  protesting 
and  ejaculatory  sounds  :  '  Aaa-ha !  —  Aaali !  —  Guk ! 
• —  Kuk !  — Huh !  —  Ooh ! '  all  in  a  distressed  voice, 
harsh  yet  plaintive.  They  might  be  saying,  '  We  can't 
do  anything  if  you  come!  We  can't  do  anything,  we 
can't  help  it,  but  we  can't  help  protesting!  Ooh! '  and 
their  careworn  cries  go  on. 


Indians  87 

"  They  are  beautiful  large  gulls,  white  below  and 
soft  black  gray  above;  one  would  never  expect  their 
forlorn  intonations." 

There  is  something  wrong,  or  at  least  depressing,  in 
the  cries  of  almost  all  the  gulls.  One  has  to  get  used 
to  them.  Serenity  itself  to  the  eye  their  voices  are  as 
of  spirits  broken  for  their  sins. 

11  Dense  schools  of  caplin  (cape-lin)  sometimes 
wrinkled  the  surface.  They  are  much  like  smelts,  and 
may  be  dipped  up  readily  with  a  hand  net.  Cod  dis- 
gorge them  on  the  stage  and  in  the  boats,  as  do  sea 
trout.  They  are  more  slender  and  delicate  than  smelt, 
as  wanting  substance  by  comparison.  The  fishermen 
speak  of  their  spawning  in  the  kelp  along  the  shore 
and  of  seeing  the  spawn  at  a  distance. 

"  Once  or  twice  I  took  to  the  paddle  for  a  change,  but 
rowing  was  much  more  effective  and  less  tiring.  The 
canoe  is  too  large  for  one  paddle.  .  .  .  Toward  the 
inlet  the  tide  helped;  it  was  7.45  when  I  pulled  up  to 
the  dock  and  surprised  Cotter.  A  great  supper  of  sea 
trout  and  bake  apple  (cloudberry)  jam,  matched  only 
by  my  appetite,  after  merely  a  couple  of  biscuit  on  the 
way  up.  Both  Cotter  and  Spracklin  have  very  good 
spruce  beer.  C.'s  ship,  the  Pelican,  is  not  in,  and  he  is 
in  great  fret  about  it.     No  Indians  yet. 

"  In  the  morning  some  one  announced  Indians  before 
we  were  up.  There  were  eight  of  them,  from  George 
River.  Three  or  four  are  tall,  good  men,  of  strong 
Cree  type.  Most  wear  deerskin  coats,  but  some  have 
cloth  shirts  over  them,  covering  also  the  skin  breech- 
cloth.  The  visible  skin  coats  of  the  others  show  a 
painted  pattern  around  the  boarders.  Their  inner  shirts 
are  of  young  or  unborn  caribou,  with  the  short,  fine  hair 


88  Labrador 

turned  in.  They  are  inclined  to  be  chilly  in  our  raw 
coast  air,  the  interior  is  warmer.  The  post  finds  shelter 
and  provisions  for  them  while  here,  the  latter  no  trifling 
matter,  for  they  are  apt  to  eat  little  the  last  days  coming 
in.  Cotter  says  they  ate  twenty-two  pounds  of  hard 
bread  to-day,  besides  pork. 

"  My  dealing  with  them  is  rather  difficult  on  the 
whole.  Their  intonation  is  high  and  nasal,  and  their 
dialect  peculiar.  They  understand  my  Montagnais  talk 
rather  fairly,  a  few  words  at  a  time,  but  I  do  not  attempt 
anything  ambitious.  The  camera  they  are  shy  about; 
one  of  them  I  got  only  by  snapping  from  the  side,  un- 
known to  him."  The  others  were  better,  small  plugs 
of  tobacco  modified  their  objections,  and  in  the  end  I 
had  them  all,  in  some  sort.  Most  of  our  talk  was  about 
the  country.  Pleasant  old  Katshiuas,  whose  name 
nevertheless  means  "  always  cross/'  gave  me  a  good 
map  of  their  route  to  the  coast,  but  in  some  mysterious 
way  it  disappeared  later  and  I  never  saw  it  again. 
Kamoques,  "  Porcupine  eater,"  also  made  one,  but  it 
was  vague.     They  are  wary  about  strangers. 

Then  it  was  that  I  learned  from  Katshiuas  that  the 
Indian  House  Lake  of  Low's  map  was  only  a  narrow 
affair,  no  wider  than  the  run  in  front  of  the  post,  and 
my  long-cherished  vision  of  a  broad,  imposing  water, 
possibly  larger  even  than  as  shown  conjecturally  on 
the  map,  and  the  best  objective  for  a  season's  trip  in 
all  Labrador,  vanished  once  for  all.  As  a  feature  of 
more  than  ordinary  interest  the  lake  departed  from  my 
mind. 

K.  told  me  quite  a  little  about  the  country.  There 
was  wood  enough  along  the  route.  Once  out  of  the 
Assiwaban  and  up  the  "  Tshishkatinaa  kapitagan"  the 


Indians  89 

high  portage,  here  his  arm  stretched  almost  vertically 
— "  It  is  high !  high !  " —  there  was  no  stream  work,  all 
was  lake  and  portage, — "  pemishkau,  kapitagan," 
paddle  and  portage,  all  the  way.  Mistinipi,  "  Great 
Lake,"  was  the  largest  water.  There  were  plenty 
of  caribou  on  the  George  that  year.  "  They  are  every- 
where !  "     Katshiuas  told  me  truly,  in  all  things. 

The  first  impression  that  the  Naskapi  make  on  one 
is  apt  to  be  vivid  and  a  little  mixed.  Their  irrespon- 
sible thin  legs  and  bare  thighs,  and  their  horsetail 
hair,  are  decidedly  not  of  our  world,  though  the  latter 
is  generally  docked  at  the  shoulders.  They  have  a 
nasal  twang,  which  in  the  excitement  of  arrival,  and 
at  such  times  they  are  not  impassive,  becomes  almost 
a  whine.  Their  travel  clothing  is  nondescript  and 
dingy;  though  as  to  this,  again,  they  know  how  to  do 
better,  and  in  new  white  skin  clothing  are  wholly  pictu- 
resque. But  as  untamed  aborigines,  Stone  Age  people, 
they  lay  hold  of  one.  The  look  in  their  eyes  is  the  look 
of  the  primitive  man  of  the  open. 

Yet  it  is  not  too  easy  to  picture  from  them  a  primi- 
tive man  of  our  own  strain.  Their  unmodified  raciality, 
which  impresses  one  strongly  at  first  meeting,  is  pro- 
bably as  far  from  our  own  as  that  of  any  high  race  in 
the  world.  To  a  white  person  not  used  to  them,  their 
presence  becomes  easily  trying.  It  puts  one  into  a 
curious  tension  which  becomes  uncomfortable,  one 
wants  to  go  away,  shortly,  for  readjustment.  This 
is  mainly,  I  think,  a  matter  of  genius;  from  us  they  are 
apart  beyond  most  children  of  earth.  Soon  after  they 
came  I  touched  one  of  them  with  my  finger  and  he 
shrank  as  if  stung.  Among  themselves  even  they  keep 
more  apart  than  white  men  do.     Restlessly  they  stepped 


90  Labrador 

about,  keen  eyed.     They  were  not  used  to  level  boards. 

I  had  meant  to  go  back  at  midday  to  take  up  the  un- 
willing task  of  catching  the  steamer,  but  the  temptation 
to  have  more  of  the  Indians  was  too  much  and  I  waited 
through  the  afternoon.  Quiet  had  settled  upon  the 
place,  there  could  be  little  trading  until  the  Pelican 
should  come  with  her  cargo.  The  strangeness  of  the 
Indians  wore  away  somewhat,  and  their  voices  fell 
agreeably.  Their  ordinary  tones  fall  in  almost  indis- 
tinguishably  with  the  rhythmic  sounds  of  the  open,  the 
wind  and  running  water  and  lip  of  the  waves.  After 
all,  we  had  subjects  in  common,  and  talked  as  best  we 
could  of  these  things. 

We  of  the  post  had  kept  something  of  a  lookout  for 
the  steamer  during  the  day  without  result,  but  after 
seven  a  plain  smoke  appeared  beyond  the  horizon  in  the 
usual  route  of  the  mailboat.  She  would  naturally  go 
to  Nain  and  be  back  possibly  by  noon  next  day.  Thus 
I  had  time  enough  to  get  to  Fanny's,  and  without  much 
risk  might  have  waited  until  morning,  but  there  was  the 
old  question  of  weather  and  it  was  calm  now.  As  it 
turned  out  I  should  have  fared  worse  to  have  waited. 

Cotter  and  others  about  urged  me  to  stay;  the  tide 
was  wrong,  night  was  no  time  to  travel  alone,  I  could 
start  early.  But  I  was  stiff  about  it,  arguing  that  it 
was  now  calm,  and  would  be  until  daylight,  but  that 
fog  comes  in  the  morning,  and  the  fog  brings  the  wind. 
There  was  no  hurry;  we  had  a  farewell  supper  and  it 
was  nine  when  I  left.  The  Indians  gathered  at  the 
landing,  looking  rather  serious.  They  do  not  like  night 
travel  overwell.  All  the  unseen  powers  are  active  then. 
Travel  by  night  alone  is  the  worst  of  all. 

For  a  while  I  used  the  paddle,  keeping  close  inshore 


Indians  91 

out  of  the  current,  then  took  to  the  oars.  I  had  thinned 
the  blades  to  perfect  balance  in  C.'s  shop,  and  tightened 
the  withes  into  silence ;  things  went  well.  For  six  miles 
the  current  was  wrong,  dying  out  finally ;  there  was  then 
no  swell  to  speak  of.  By  eleven  the  afterglow  in  the 
north  was  faint,  but  was  replaced  by  northern  lights, 
shi  fting  and  wavering  in  a  long,  flat  arch,  and  at  times 
as  bright  as  moonlight.  I  watched  the  sky  for  signs 
of  wind,  for  the  landing  places  along  were  not  too  good, 
and  the  only  good  shelter  would  be  far  down  one  of  the 
two  large  bays.  Half  way  across  the  first  bay  the  swell 
began  to  increase  and  sound  heavy  on  the  islands  east- 
ward. Edging  farther  away  from  them,  toward  the 
mainland,  a  strong  uproar  of  surf  came  from  the  south 
point  of  the  bay.  By  this  time  it  was  midnight,  and 
dark  save  for  the  stars  and  the  brighter  periods  of  the 
north  sky.  Saddle-back  gulls  wailed  once  or  twice 
from  their  islands,  sounding  familiar  and  friendly  ■ —  in 
truth,  they  sounded  a  good  deal  more  friendly  than  the 
roaring  shores.  The  noise,  the  darkness,  and  the  un- 
usual heave  of  the  sea  were  getting  to  be  impressive. 
Night  doings  take  a  little  extra  hardihood.  Before  long 
I  lost  the  identity  of  the  shore  lines  and  became  uncer- 
tain of  my  course.  The  tide  was  passing  out  from  the 
deep  bays,  and  once  without  landmarks  it  became  doubt- 
ful where  I  was  getting  to.  I  had  edged  for  the  main- 
land, yet  might  have  been  going  seaward  by  set  of  tide, 
which  in  any  event  prevented  my  taking  a  straight 
course  and  holding  to  it.  It  was  confusing,  and  after 
listening  to  the  surf  awhile  and  remembering  the  shal- 
low points  that  might  break  at  any  time  and  bring  on 
an  ice-water  interruption,  I  concluded  that  open  sea  was 
the  place  and  pulled  for  it.     The  oars  would  bring  me 


92  Labrador 

back;  it  would  have  been  doubtful  business  with  only 
a  paddle.  By  one  o'clock  I  felt  sure  I  was  off  Lane's 
Bay  and  was  easier  as  the  roar  of  the  west  point  of  the 
bay  receded.  Cotter  had  given  me  a  half  loaf  of  bread, 
and  now  and  then  I  gnawed  at  it,  shifting  off  my  seat 
into  the  bottom  of  the  canoe  for  change  of  position. 
Rowing  in  so  small  a  craft  as  a  canoe  one  has  to  keep 
in  exactly  the  same  position,  and  gets  stiff  in  time. 
When  the  sound  of  breakers  came  equally  from  east  and 
west  I  supposed  I  was  off  the  middle  of  the  bay,  antl  lay 
to,  now  munching  bread  and  now  rowing  a  little  for 
circulation,  waiting  for  light.  There  was  still  no  wand. 
A  grampus  snorted  about,  and  now  and  then  I  knocked 
well  on  the  gunwale,  in  the  interest  of  fair  play. 

Dawn  came  late.  A  heavy  bank  of  fog  not  far  sea- 
ward shut  back  the  early  light.  At  that  sea'son  the  sun 
creeps  along  almost  level  under  the  horizon  during  the 
early  hours,  and  heavy  cloud  or  fog  is  very  effective  in 
keeping  back  the  day.  Fog  had  been  working  in  from 
seaward  for  several  hours,  a  dense  black  wall,  rising 
higher  and  higher.  By  the  time  I  could  see  the  landmark 
hill  at  the  Cape  harbor,  some  six  miles  away,  the  fog  be- 
gan to  touch  the  top  of  it.  Then  I  rawed  fast,  to  get 
over  the  wide  shoals  before  the  fog  reached  them. 
Those  shoals  wrere  what  I  had  held  back  for  in  the  night. 
With  such  -an  unusual  swell  and  a  falling  tide  it  would 
not  do  to  wander  along  over  them  at  random.  They 
were  the  serious  feature  of  the  trip. 

It  was  near  five  when  I  made  out  the  Cape  hill  and 
started  past  the  shoals.  There  was  wind  now,  from 
east.  Things  were  going  well  enough,  when  suddenly 
a  coming  swell  rose  high  and  stood  for  an  instant  as  if 
looking  down  at  me.     There  was  not  much  to  be  done, 


KAMOQUES 


Indians  93 

but  I  threw  the  bow.  up  to  make  the  best  of  it,  twisting 
the  boat  head  on.  As  luck  would  have  it  the  wave 
passed,  and  the  usual  two  more  nearly  as  large,  without 
breaking,  as  follows  from  my  writing  this,  and  I  swung 
back  into  the  trough  again.  If  ever  any  one  pulled  to 
get  away  from  -a  place  it  was  then,  and  she  was  a  wonder 
in  the  trough,  that  unnamed  canoe  of  1903,  like  a  snake 
she  would  run  down  the  hollows.  But  the  look  of  that 
standing  wave,  hanging  over  in  the  dark  rough  morning, 
is  one  of  my  Labrador  memories.  Anything  but  flat 
shoals  and  a  swell,  on  a  falling  tide ! 

The  fog  swirled  in  thick  as  I  reached  sheltered  water. 
It  was  no  matter.  I  slapped  down  my  pocket  compass 
into  the  bottom,  of  the  canoe  before  it  could  change  its 
course,  and  went  on  well,  though  it  was  blind  work  at 
the  end  of  the  harbor. 

All  creatures  come  close  in  such  fog.  Twenty  or 
thirty  eiders  flew  almost  aboard.  Tickles  had  been  all 
about  as  the  fog  came  on,  and  another  bunch  of  eiders 
came  very  close. 

Laying  out  the  canoe,  rather  as  a  friend  never  to  be 
seen  again,  I  did  the  two  miles  and  more  across  the 
island  to  Spracklin's  with  a  pack  which  felt  heavy.  I 
had  no  doubt  of  getting  the  steamer.  During  the  latter 
part  of  the  night  I  heard  her  whistle,  at  Fanny's,  and 
took  it  that  she  was  off  north  for  Nain.  To  my  amaze- 
ment Spracklin  met  me  in  the  doorway,  with,  rather 
brusquely,  "You've  lost  your  passage!"  I  was  so 
dazed,  having  had  no  misgivings  at  all  in  the  matter,  and 
being  sleepy  and  dense  after  the  doings  of  the  last 
twenty-four  hours,  that  I  could  not  really  sense  the 
situation  until  after  breakfast.  The  mailboat  had 
passed  north  early  the  day  before,  unseen  by  us  at  the 


94  Labrador 

inlet,  and  had  left,  going  south,  at  the  time  I  heard  the 
whistle.  What  steamer  it  was  that  made  the  smoke  we 
saw  from  the  post  we  have  never  known.  For  the 
next  fifteen  hours,  however,  disappointment  did  not 
keep  me  awake  much. 

By  the  time  I  had  slept  up  a  spell  of  bad  weather  was 
on.  The  storm  out  at  sea  which  had  pushed  the  night 
swell  up  on  the  coast  had  followed  in.  The  surf  about 
the  exposed  Cape  had  been  heavy  through  the  night,  un- 
usually so.  Spracklin,  of  course,  heard  it,  and  although 
there  was  no  wind  whatever  until  early  morning,  he 
always  imagined  from  the  noise  he  had  heard  that  a 
gale  had  been  blowing  all  night.  He  really  believed  it ; 
I  could  never  quite  shake  it  out  of  him,  and  for  years  he 
told  in  good  faith  the  story  of  my  night  trip  by  canoe, 
"  in  a  wild  storm  alone."  He  made  a  good  yarn  of  it, 
if  a  hard  one  for  me  to  live  up  to.  Many  a  pretty  fame, 
it  may  be,  has  no  better  basis.  But  to  travel  conven- 
iently by  night  in  such  places  one  needs  to  know  the 
shores  better  than  I  did,  not  to  speak  of  shoals  and 
currents.  Mere  wind  can  only  bother  and  force  one  to 
land,  but  shoals  and  sweepers  can  be  the  de'il's  own. 

Spracklin  always  did  have  imagination,  and  more. 
So  far  as  he  himself  was  concerned,  wind  and  sea  only 
stirred  his  blood.  One  of  the  pictures  of  him  that  I 
like,  though  I  did  not  see  the  happening,  is  as  coming  in 
through  the  harbor  entrance  low  down  with  fish,  a  fol- 
lowing wave  filling  the  boat,  the  two  Labradorians 
climbing  the  mast,  but  Spracklin  remaining  unmoved  at 
the  tiller.  He  finally  brought  his  load  of  fish  alongside 
the  stage,  the  water  up  to  his  mouth.  He  could  not 
swim. 

One  year  I  came  along  just  after  he  had  had  an  expe- 


Indians  95 

rience  crossing  to  Lane's  Bay  alone  in  his  jack,  a  deep, 
stout  boat  of  some  tons  burden,  over  waters  already  des- 
cribed. Near,  to  the  south,  was  that  stronghold  of 
yEolus,  Windy  Tickle.  From  here,  perhaps,  came  the 
whirlwind  which  tore  the  sea  and  flailed  off  his  masts 
in  an  instant,  he  as  helpless  as  if  in  an  explosion.  For 
once  in  his  life  he  made  that  quick  mental  conge  of 
things  earthly  which  wayfarers  of  less  firm  clay  have 
made  with  smaller  cause.  The  boat  lived,  how  he  knew 
not,  and  he  limped  home  under  such  rig  of  remnants  as 
he  could  improvise.  The  sea  had  betrayed  him  at  last, 
his  face  and  voice  showed  it. 

Things  were  not  too  well  at  Fanny's.  The  fishing  fell 
off  with  the  storm,  and  did  not  much  recover ;  the  total 
catch  had  been  less  than  five  hundred  quintals.  I  was 
sorry  for  the  people ;  they  deserved  more  than  they  could 
possibly  get.  Then  Spracklin's  trap  had  to  come  out, 
for  some  reason,  and  Jim's  likewise,  for  a  two-pointed 
berg  blew  in  and  cut  it  up  badly.  Pieces  of  the  berg 
came  into  the  harbor  at  night,  one  so  large  that  it 
seemed  perfectly  impossible  for  it  to  have  come  through 
the  narrow,  entrance.  Now  there  was  "  no  twine  in  the 
water  " ;  the  fisherman's  dark  day  had  come.  By  this 
time  the  wear  of  round-the-clock  work  had  begun  to 
show  on  the  crew.  Ellen  was  the  worse  for  the  pace, 
but  kept  us  going  somehow.  Little  Jane  was  still  work- 
ing like  a  tiger  on  the  stage,  for  there  were  some  fish 
ahead  in  the  pens  and  bag  nets  when  the  traps  gave  out. 
I  was  about  the  stage  too,  for  more  than  exercise,  com- 
ing to  see  that  forking  and  loading  are  really  work  when 
long  continued.  My  reward,  the  particular  bright  spot, 
as  I  look  back,  was  Ellen's  piled  plates  of  "  heads  and 
sounds,"  better  even  than  the  fish  proper;  and  this  is 


96  Labrador 

much  to  say,  for  all  Newfoundlanders  know  how  to 
deal  with  Fish  and  at  their  hands  and  in  their  several 
ways  of  getting  it  up  it  is  always  good.  Sunday  break- 
fast, where  fishing  goes  on,  is  ever  brewis,  "  fish  and 
bruise."  The  fish  part  is  well  enough,  I  was  wont  to 
pick  it  out  very  contentedly;  but  my  share  of  the  soppy 
hardbread  which  constitutes  bruise  generally  went  to 
Spracklin's  hens. 

Storms  from  sea,  after  the  fish  are  in,  blow  them  in- 
shore up  the  bays,  where  they  fatten  and  come  back  by 
September.  The  thick-tailed  ones  are  picked  out  for 
the  table,  as  being  best  conditioned.  We  had  two  small 
salmon  before  the  nets  were  damaged,  a  change  and  a 
treat,  but  they  pall  on  one  after  two  or  three  meals, 
unlike  Fish. 

Save  for  Ellen's  cooking  everything  was  a  little  out 
of  joint;  the  wind  was  truly  east.  Water  being  scarce, 
a  common  occurrence  in  the  islands,  it  had  to  be  brought 
from  the  hill  in  a  hand-barrow  tank.  Lest  the  blue  time 
should  extend  itself  to  my  personal  interests,  I  took  a 
turn  across  the  island  one  day  and  weighted  the  canoe 
with  more  stones,  though  it  was  doing  well  as  it  was. 
A  run  of  bad  luck  in  such  a  place  is  a  thing  to  make 
one  wary.  The  fishermen  are  apt  to  regard  special 
misfortunes  as  punishments  for  lapses  of  conduct,  par- 
ticularly Sabbath-breaking.  Spracklin  insisted  that 
Skipper  Jim's  trouble  with  the  ice  came  from  having 
straightened  out  his  trap  the  Sunday  before. 

This  was  the  rawest  black  weather  of  the  summer. 
The  wind  came  straight  from  the  Greenland  ice-cap 
and  Melville  Bay,  across  some  hundreds  of  miles  of 
berg-bearing  sea.  The  end  came  after  some  days. 
Marvelous  is  the  change  from  one  of  these  dark,  cold 


Indians  97 

periods  to  mild  calm  sunshine,  cheering  the  light  on  rock 
and  dying  surf.  Unchained  from  the  mailboat  incubus 
I  was  soon  off  on  the  old  shimmering  road  to  the  Inlet, 
taking  in  the  Labrador  air  as  naturally  as  the  creatures 
of  the  place.  These  were  all  about;  grampuses  that 
roved  across  the  wake  and  blew ;  black-backs  that 
launched  out  and  hailed  "  Ah-there  "  ;  kittiwakes  in  flut- 
tering flocks ;  caplin,  and  the  flicking  cod.  Inspiring 
were  the  daylight  and  the  shining  folk  of  air  and  sea 
after  the  doubting  night  voyage  that  had  been.  Ah,  the 
lighted  day !  Chaos  and  night  are  much  one  to  sightless 
man;  almost  all  of  the  other  creatures,  they  of  the  finer 
senses,  if  not  the  higher,  see  better  than  man  when  night 
is  down. 

A  far  crying,  as  of  some  creature  of  fox-like  size, 
came  from  distant  islands  seaward.  I  could  imagine 
it  running  up  and  down  in  the  desolation.  Later  I 
knew  it  for  the  waby,1  the  red-throated  loon. 

Half  way  along  was  Sam  Bromfield  coming  from 
the  post,  with  such  news  as  there  was.  The  Pelican 
was  in,  and  more  Indians.  The  post  people  had  been 
speculating  about  me,  seeing  the  sea  and  fog  come  on, 
but  concluded  that  I  would  probably  get  out  of  the 
trouble  in  some  way.  Sam  had  my  rifle  on  his  mind, 
but  I  could  not  promise  it  to  him  then.  He  gave  me 
a  couple  of  sticks  for  spars,  but  my  breeze  never  came; 
and  worse,  the  tide  was  wrong  in  the  run. 

The  day  was  well  along  before  I  landed  on  the  post 
beach,  where  a  dozen  tall  Indians  stood  waiting  upon 
the  wharf.  Ashimaganish 2  was  one,  the  chief. 
"  Quay!  Quay!  "  we  saluted,  in  the  way  of  the  Cree 
tribes.     After  I  landed  he  gave  a  shout  and  the  others 

1  Said  Wawby.  2  Said  Ashimarganish. 


98  Labrador 

surrounded  the  loaded  canoe,  picked  it  up  lightly  and 
put  it  up  on  the  wharf  —  a  friendly  act. 

Eighteen  more  Indians  had  come,  there  were  twenty- 
six  in  all.  Some  would  have  counted  as  good  men  any- 
where, and  there  were  several  handsome  boys.  We 
were  acquainted  now,  and  they  humanized  a  good 
deal;  matters  of  race  appeared  less  insuperable  than 
before.  I  found  it  easier  to  talk  with  the  older  men, 
perhaps  they  had  seen  more  of  such  occasions,  but  age 
seeks  its  level. 

The  Pelican  was  anchored  out  in  the  run  when  I 
arrived.  Cotter  was  aboard,  and  I  had  supper  on  shore 
alone.  About  dark  he  came  hunting  me  up  at  the  men's 
quarters,  where  I  was  sitting  in  with  the  Indians,  and 
took  me  off,  seeming  a  little  upset  until  we  were  settled 
in  the  house.  He  was  excited  at  leave  of  absence  in 
the  fall,  it  meant  a  winter  in  London  and  Edinboro'. 
He  had  never  been  over,  and  naturally  the  prospect 
was  gilded;  his  mind  was  already  there,  and  my  talk 
of  things  near  had  little  response. 

So  it  always  is  with  the  younger  Hudson's  Bay 
Company  men  after  leave  is  granted.  A  young  Cana- 
dian of  the  service,  with  relations  in  England,  showed 
the  same  excitement  as  Cotter  in  his  preparations. 
The  people  of  the  posts  ask  very  simply  about  things 
of  the  world,  and  so  this  young  man,  though  he  had 
once  been  to  school  in  a  large  Canadian  city.  The 
talk  had  all  to  be  upon  London  and  the  way  of  things 
there,  and  above  all  upon  clothes.  Cost  entered  little, 
for  these  people  beyond  the  money  line  all  feel  passing 
rich.  Their  salaries  are  small,  but,  willy  nilly,  in  their 
wantless  life  they  can  scarcely  help  saving.  The  total 
sum  in  a  lifetime  can  only  be  small  as  the  outer  world 


Indians  99 

goes,  but  the  financial  tide  is  always  rising.  One  day 
they  emerge  into  the  world  and  realize  its  scale  of 
living. 

One  ought  to  have  letters  of  introduction  in  going 
to  a  Hudson's  Bay  Company  post.  Now  I  suffered 
a  disadvantage  in  not  having  them.  The  rules  are 
rather  strict  about  putting  strangers  into  relation  with 
the  Indians  and  the  hunting  country.  The  good  people 
of  the  post  had  placed  themselves  in  a  doubtful  posi- 
tion by  doing  what  they  had,  and  they  had  now  become 
doubtful  lest  I  meant  to  set  up  in  trade  with  their 
Indians.  Their  doubts  were  not  very  farfetched;  they 
saw  that  I  was  an  old  hand,  my  outfit  was  untourist- 
like,  and  I  had  more  use  of  the  Indian  language  than 
any  one  along  the  shore.  Among  the  shore  people 
there  had  been  abundant  speculation  as  to  my  purposes 
from  the  first.  They  were  shrewdly  sure  that  I  must 
be  either  looking  for  minerals  or  intending  to  trade. 
The  Newfoundlanders  believed  I  was  after  gold; 
Spracklin  indeed  begged  me  to  let  him  in  on  what  I 
might  find.  It  was  announced  in  the  St.  John  papers 
one  year  that  we  had  found  gold  in  paying  quantities 
and  were  going  to  develop  it  in  a  large  way.  The 
shore  folk,  however,  held  the  fur  theory. 

Until  now  the  Hudson's  Bay  Company  people  had 
kept  a  steady  head.  There  had  even  been  an  under- 
standing that  when  the  Pelican  had  come  and  gone, 
and  the  Indians  were  off,  some  one  of  them  would  make 
a  trip  inland  with  me,  if  I  was  still  there  to  go.  One 
of  these  people  had  once  been  a  hundred  miles  inland, 
as  he  reckoned  it,  by  dog  train,  with  William  Edmunds 
and  two  Southern  Indians.  They  had  gone  up  river 
from  Opetik  Bay,  due  west ;  this  I  suspect  was  compass 


100  Labrador 

west,  really  almost  southwest,  and  the  distance,  two  and 
a  half  days  of  good  sledging,  was  probably  less  than 
was  thought.  The  coast  distances  hold  out  well  —  are 
based  on  the  sea  mile,  perhaps,  the  "  long  sea  mile  "  of 
John  Silver  and  Treasure  Island.  Inland  miles  are 
another  matter,  they  grow  shorter  and  shorter  as  the 
shoreman's  home  places  and  inseparable  salt  water  fall 
behind.  What  turned  the  Hudson's  Bay  Company 
party  back  was  Indians,  not  snowshoe  tracks  or  ima- 
ginary Indians,  but  the  very  men  they  were  with.  For 
some  reason  best  known  to  themselves  they  announced 
to  the  outsiders  that  they  did  not  want  them  to  go  any 
farther  into  the  country  and  actually  threatened  vio- 
lence. Our  white  man  was  disposed  to  be  militant, 
but  William's  enthusiasm  fell  away  and  they  turned 
back.  This  may  have  been  well ;  it  was  then  not  so 
very  long  since  some  of  the  northern  Indians  had  set 
out  to  rush  Davis  Inlet  post,  being  denied  what  they 
asked. 

The  projected  trip  inland  was  now  off,  of  course, 
I  being  a  doubtful  person.  The  feasibility  of  making 
an  arrangement  with  the  Indians  was  also  lessened,  for 
their  keen  observation  had  not  missed  the  change  of 
atmosphere,  and  they  are  not  apt  to  take  much  trouble 
for  a  person  of  doubtful  standing  among  his  own 
people.  Whether  it  was  the  prevailing  talk  of  the  shore 
people,  or,  more  likely,  the  councils  of  cautious  old 
Captain  Gray,  of  the  Pelican,  that  upset  things,  I  never 
knew.  The  blocking  of  Cotter's  vacation  into  the 
country  may  have  been  partly  due  to  William  Edmunds. 
The  journey  was  a  reconnoissance  toward  a  possible 
inland  trading  post.  As  William's  best  perquisite  was 
the  boating  of  Indians   from  Opetik  to  Davis  Inlet 


Indians  101 

at  a  dollar  each,  his  interest  would  be  against  the 
project.  It  was  generally  thought  that  he  had  in- 
trigued with  the  Indians  against  this  enterprise.  It 
remains,  however,  that  to  the  present  year  1920  they 
have  allowed  no  white  person  but  myself  and  occasional 
countrymen  to  enter.  In  191 5  they  ejected  a  party 
summarily. 

With  whatever  of  cross-currents  the  days  that 
followed  this  fourth  arrival  at  the  post  were  sufficiently 
unvexed  and  full  of  interest.  Indians  were  every- 
where, the  old  Hudson's  Bay  people  and  the  shore  folk 
always  had  something  to  say,  and  my  note  book  grew, 
if  less  than  it  ought.  The  oldest  of  the  Hudson's  Bay 
Company  people,  Mr.  Dickers,  in  his  active  days  a 
carpenter  in  the  service,  had  been  long  at  Fort  Chimo 
on  Ungava  Bay.  The  second  generation,  John  and 
James,  were  the  active  men  here  at  Davis  Inlet  now, 
the  latter  a  cooper,  who  made  the  rows  of  handsome 
barrels  that  the  sea  trout  were  shipped  in,  while  John 
was  general  right-hand  man  of  the  post.  They  were 
Scotch,  almost  of  course,  being  of  the  Hudson's  Bay 
Company.  I  ought  to  have  saved  more  from  these 
people's  talk  than  I  did.  The  elder  Dickers  had  lived 
in  the  romantic  period  of  the  North,  in  the  days  when 
fur  was  all  and  Indians  came  and  went  over  the  wide 
North  as  they  never  will  again;  yet  I,  young  when 
Ballantine's  tales  were  young,  and  Dick  Prince  and 
Dog  Crusoe  and  Chimo  and  Ungava  were  stirring 
names,  have  little  to  tell.  What  questions  I  should 
have  asked!  They  spoke  mainly  of  the  Eskimo. 
There  were  inland  Eskimo,  little  people,  who  came  to 
Chimo  from  the  northwest.  They  hunted  quite  away 
from  the  shores.     There  were  ordinary  Eskimo  who 


102  Labrador 

made  sometimes  six  weeks'  journeys  to  Ungava,  bring- 
ing kometiks  piled  four  feet  high  with  furs,  and  they 
would  return  with  tobacco  by  the  hundredweight,  and 
maybe  rifles,  five  or  six  of  them;  but  they  bought  no 
provisions  of  the  post. 

As  ever,  there  were  tales  of  trouble  from  infringe- 
ment of  hunting  territory,  as  when  somewhere  about 
Ungava  a  ship's  crew,  beset,  took  to  hunting  deer 
themselves.  The  Eskimo,  in  resentment,  scuttled  the 
ship  while  the  men  were  away  hunting.  No  less  the 
primeval  tale  of  women  stealing,  and  the  Eskimo  man 
has  a  heavy  hand.  It  was  forty  or  fifty  years  ago. 
The  company's  ship  was  wrecked,  and  the  crew  sepa- 
rated in  two  boats.  The  mate,  Armstrong,  brought  his 
crew  out  at  Ungava.  The  captain's  sailors  made 
trouble  with  the  Eskimo  women,  whereupon  the  men 
turned  in  and  killed  the  whole  white  party.  Among 
others  hunting  there  they  told  how  in  recent  years 
an  Ungava  Eskimo  killed  a  very  large  white  bear 
with  his  knife  alone. 

The  Indians  were  busy  between  ship  and  shore  for 
a  day  or  two,  putting  through  the  heavy  job  of  trans- 
porting freight.  Along  with  lighter  goods  was  much 
that  was  not  easy  to  handle,  such  as  flour  and  pork, 
besides  the  weighty  hogsheads  of  molasses.  In  the 
intervals  the  workers  spread  about  the  place  in  a  vaca- 
tion spirit,  as  if  making  the  most  of  their  excursion. 
One  evening  the  younger  ones  got  out  Cotter's  football. 
They  were  active,  and  there  was  a  good  deal  of  fun, 
through  moccasin- foot  kicking  is  not  very  effective. 
Once  the  goods  were  ashore  Cotter  and  his  people  shut 
themselves  into  the  store  to  open  the  cases  and  get  ready 
for  trading,  leaving  the  Indians  outside.     We  had  a 


Indians  103 

good  deal  of  talk.  There  were  eighty  people,  they  said, 
left  at  their  place  on  the  George.  It  took  them  seven 
days  to  come  over. 

The  furs  come  down  in  snug,  spindle-shaped  bundles 
laced  up  as  with  a  shoe  lacing,  the  cover  being  seal- 
skin, hair  outside,  to  keep  the  water  out.  Such  bundles 
usually  have  two  carrying  lines,  one  for  the  head  and 
the  other  to  cross  the  shoulders.  Furs  are  their  money ; 
and  some  of  them,  such  as  the  martens,  are  not  much 
heavier  than  banknotes ;  indeed  furs  are  about  as  current 
as  money  almost  anywhere  in  northern  Canada. 

As  to  the  kokomesh,  the  namdycush  trout,  they  said 
it  was  common  in  the  lakes,  up  to  two  and  a  half  feet 
long  and  very  deep;  the  depth  they  emphasized,  for 
depth  means  both  quantity  and  quality,  and  the  koko- 
mesh is  their  principal  fish.  They  would  not  say  that 
there  were  any  very  heavy  ones,  this  to  my  surprise, 
for  some  of  their  lakes  are  large,  and  it  is  certain  that 
in  some  of  the  lakes  of  the  northwest  at  least,  the 
namdycush  grows  to  nearly  a  hundred  pounds  weight, 
The  fontinalis  was  well  known,  and  the  whitefish,  with 
various  suckers.  We  agreed  easily  on  the  names  of 
the  usual  animals  of  the  North,  and  the  common  birds 
and  trees.  They  did  not  understand  my  name  for  the 
north  star. 

Two  or  three  of  them  became  interested  in  my  prints 
taken  on  southern-slope  rivers,  telling  others  about 
them,  who  came  in  turn  to  see.  Many  of  my  things 
were  new  or  unusual  to  them,  beginning  with  the  canoe. 
They  were  interested  in  everything,  finally  showing,  like 
everybody  else,  curiosity  as  to  what  I  was  there  for. 
The  chief  took  me  off  alone  one  day,  and  began  to 
quiz:     "  Tante  tshina  kokominah?"   he  asked.     The 


104  Labrador 

words  were  plain,  but  I  could  not  believe  I  had  heard 
clearly.  "Xante  tshina  kokminah?"  he  insisted,  with 
emphasis.  There  was  no  doubt,  he  was  asking, 
"Where  is  your  old  woman?"  Whatever  business 
was  it  of  his?  At  last  it  came  to  me  that  it  was  his 
way  of  asking  where  my  home  was,  and  I  pointed  south  : 
"  Twelve  days  in  the  fireboat  —  twelve  days  —  night 
and  day,  night  and  day ;  it  is  very  far  " ;  this  in  Mon- 
tagnais,  of  course.  "  What  are  you  here  for?"  I 
told  him  I  was  not  a  trader,  not  a  hunter,  and  stayed  in 
my  own  country  most  of  the  time;  but  once  in  a  while 
I  liked  to  travel,  to  go  to  a  new  country,  to  see  the 
animals  and  birds  and  fish  and  trees  and  the  people ;  then 
I  went  back  to  my  country  again.  He  seemed  to 
understand  and  we  drifted  into  other  talk.  Before  we 
parted  he  asked,  "  Why  don't  you  go  inland  with  us 
and  have  a  tent  and  a  wife  at  Tshinutivish?  "  I  told 
him  I  should  like  to  go  over  there  tremendously  (true 
enough)  but  it  was  getting  late  in  the  season,  and  I 
really  must  go  back  home.  I  might  come  up  next  year. 
Afterwards  I  speculated  as  to  whether  he  expected  me 
to  bring  along  a  kokominah,  or  whether  he  would  have 
found  one  for  me  up  there,  but  the  matter  would  have 
strained  my  powers  in  the  language.  Still  I  ought  to 
have  asked  him. 

The  Oldtown  canoe  was  a  great  attraction.  They 
were  beginning  to  use  canvas  themselves,  and  knew 
how  limp  it  was,  how  hard  to  make  a  handsome  job 
with.  Indeed,  how  they  can  build  as  shapely  a  canvas 
canoe  as  they  do  without  using  a  form  is  hard  to  see. 
The  symmetry  and  perfect  surface  of  mine  was  a  des- 
pair to  them.  Long  they  would  stand  over  it,  studying 
and  lifting  it;  their  heads  surely  swam  with  being  kept 


Indians  105 

upside  down  in  studying  out  the  neat  work  in  the  ends. 
I  should  have  been  glad  to  explain  that  they  were  really 
better  builders  than  we,  that  it  was  no  trouble  to  do 
such  work  if  one  used  a  form  to  model  on,  but  I  had 
not  the  language.  I  could  have  sold  the  canoe  easily. 
They  did  not  like  the  broad  paddles,  and  in  this  were 
right.  Katshiuas  looked  doubtfully  at  the  light  gun- 
wale; "  Nauashu,"  he  said,  "  It  is  frail,"  and  I  tried  to 
explain  that  the  stiffness  we  get  by  nailing  the  sheathing 
and  ribs  together  made  a  heavy  gunwale  unnecessary. 
In  their  canoes  the  gunwale  is  the  very  backbone. 
Katshiuas  put  his  hand  upon  the  cane  seat,  of  which 
unnautical  device  I  was  duly  ashamed.  "  Do  you  sit 
down  here?"  he  asked,  incredulously,  at  if  pained. 
They  kneel,  themselves,  low  down,  sitting  upon  their 
heels.  I  explained,  sheepishly,  as  I  had  about  the 
paddles,  that  I  did  not  make  these  things  and  knew 
they  were  all  wrong.  Before  the  trading  was  over  I 
saw  one  of  the  canoe  builders  buying  brass  clinching 
nails ;  he  was  evidently  going  to  try  them. 

I  had  been  giving  a  piece  of  tobacco  for  a  camera 
snap  now  and  then,  until  the  boys  used  to  call  out 
"  Tsh'tamau!  "  1  (tobacco)  almost  any  time  I  appeared 
in  sight,  and  it  came  to  be  expected.  One  day  before 
trading  began  the  chief  asked  me  if  I  wanted  to  make 
a  picture,  and  grouped  up  a  lot  of  his  people  on  the 
platform,  while  I  took  three  snaps.  As  I  turned  away, 
there  was  a  bedlam  of  cries  for  Tsh'tamau;  M  Aishkats," 
"By  and  by,"  I  said,  and  pointed  to  the  store;  they 
laughed  and  scattered.  Later  in  the  day  I  bought 
twenty-six  of  the  little  black  plugs  they  prefer,  one  for 
each  man,  and  with  pockets  and  hands  full  went  out, 
1  Tsh-tay.-m6w. 


106  Labrador 

nodding  to  two  or  three  Indians  who  were  in  sight. 
They  saw,  disappeared,  and  presently  came  back  with 
the  rest,  surrounding  me  in  wild  riot.  As  fast  as  one 
got  a  plug  he  mixed  in  again  with  the  others.  There 
would  not  have  been  the  least  trouble  in  their  coming 
two  or  three  times  apiece,  for  I  could  not  keep  track 
of  them,  and  I  felt  sure  they  would  do  so.  But  when 
they  stopped  coming  there  was  still  one  plug  left  over 
—  the  man  who  had  refused  to  give  me  a  pose  had 
stayed  away.  I  was  surprised  at  this  fair  play,  but 
experience  with  more  than  a  hundred  individuals  since 
that  time  has  developed  nothing  but  the  same  sort  of 
thing. 

Now  came  the  trading.  Most  of  the  furs  had  been 
passed  in  before  the  ship  came,  and  paid  for  with 
colored  counters  like  small  poker  chips.  Yellow  ones 
are  $5,  white  $2,  red  50  cents,  blue  20  cents.  This 
money  is  used  like  any  other  for  buying  the  goods. 
The  older  men  coach  the  younger  ones  in  their  trading. 
There  is,  or  was  on  this  occasion,  no  ill-temper,  and 
much  laughing  as  the  goods  were  chosen.  The  list  of 
items  was  long.1  Katshinas  bought  a  folding  stove. 
Red  handkerchiefs  with  a  pattern  were  mostly  pre- 
ferred to  the  blue  ones;  they  bought  any  number  of 
them.  Prices  were  stiff,  a  light  single  shotgun,  muzzle 
loader,  was  $16.  The  chief  finally  asked  for  a  "  debt," 
that  is,  something  on  credit. 

"  August  4.  Two  wolverene  skins  among  the  rest 
this  morning,  also  one  or  two  heavy-furred  whitish 

1  They  buy  cartridges,  powder,  shot,  tobacco,  tea,  cloth,  shirts, 
leggins,  needles,  thread,  ribbon,  beads,  axes,  knives,  spy-glasses, 
kettles,  Eskimo  boots,  blankets  (white),  hooks,  lines,  mouth- 
harmonicas,  handkerchiefs. 


Indians  107 

wolf  skins,  very  large;  quite  a  few  otter;  a  good  number 
of  white  foxes,  many  reds,  and  some  cross  foxes. 
A  black  fox  fetched  $100. 

"It  is  a  tough  piece  of  work  for  C.  to  stand  all  day 
and  deal  with  them,  but  he  does  it  admirably.  He 
works  pretty  fast  and  there  is  no  great  amount  of 
shopping  bother  such  as  one  might  expect.  John 
Dicker  and  Johnny  E.  run  upstairs,  climb  shelves, 
weigh,  and  measure.  It  has  gone  on  from  six  this 
morning  and  will  hardly  be  over  to-night. 

"  In  a  general  way  a  man  buys,  besides  his  various 
personal  stuff,  a  large  lot  of  something  like  powder, 
tea,  or  some  one  kind  of  cloth.  As  there  is  no  sign 
of  discussion  among  them  I  take  it  that  this  is  done 
by  prearrangement,  and  that  a  redisturbution  is  made 
afterwards." 

About  midday  the  fifth  trading  was  over.  Then 
a  curious  change  came  over  the  Indians ;  they  had  been 
easy,  good  natured,  leisurely;  now  they  were  hurried, 
unresponsive,  silent;  they  crouched  over  their  bundles 
intently ;  their  backs  seemed  always  toward  one.  Two 
boats  were  ready,  William's  and  the  Hudson's  Bay 
Company's  "  punt."  Without  taking  leave  or  looking 
back  they  scattered  down  the  wharf  and  into  the  boats. 
The  older  men  got  into  the  punt,  eight  of  them. 

They  were  unmodified  wild  men  again,  and  dis- 
agreeable to  boot.  I  was  taken  aback,  not  to  say  dis- 
concerted, but  at  any  rate  I  had  seen  the  Naskapi  way 
of  leaving  a  white  man's  place.  Still  I  could  have 
kicked  them,  one  and  all.  There  are  mitigating  cir- 
cumstances, though,  when  one  comes  to  know  why  they 
choose  this  way. 

I   decided  to  go  along  as   far  as  Opetik  anyway, 


108  Labrador 

though  with  no  definite  plan  beyond.  Johnny  Edmunds 
had  told  me  that  his  father  would  go  inland  with  me, 
he  knew.  I  might  never  be  on  the  coast  again,  and 
anything  observed  while  I  was  on  the  spot  would  be 
so  much  gain.  There  was  a  good  chance  that  I  would 
be  able  to  get  some  pictures  of  them  in  deerskin  clothes- 
at  Opetik,  when  they  were  less  covered  by  the  wretched 
cloth  things  which  most  were  wearing  outside,  and  I 
might  even  make  some  arrangement  to  go  along  with 
them  for  a  day  or  two.  So  I  got  in  with  the  eighteen 
younger  men,  the  older  ones  looking  too  sour,  holding 
fast  to  the  tow  line  of  the  canoe.  We  were  packed 
like  sardines. 

The  punt,  sailed  by  a  bay  man  named  John,  started 
well  ahead,  and  was,  withal,  a  faster  boat  than  ours. 
We  were  a  fairly  companionable  mob  when  once  off, 
and  when  it  went  calm  off  Shung-ho,  two  of  the  young 
fellows  asked  if  they  might  take  the  canoe,  as  of 
course  they  might  —  a  good  thing,  crowded  as  we 
were.  The  outriggers  bothered  them,  and  before  long 
they  came  very  civilly  to  see  if  they  might  take  them 
off;  once  clear  of  these  they  paddled  a  good  many 
miles.  WThen  we  landed  at  Jim  Lane's,  I  took  the  canoe 
and  paddled  it  ashore  myself.  There  was  a  little  slop, 
and  because  I  did  not  'hold  the  canoe  quite  straight, 
though  I  thought  I  was  doing  very  well  as  the  wind 
was,  the  young  scamps  hooted  and  laughed.  Derision 
is  an  easy  gift  of  the  young  Indians,  they  are  quick 
to  see  an  opening  and  have  all  the  wit  they  need.  I 
had  suffered  a  little  in  dignity  from  having  dropped  in 
with  the*  younger  men. 

We  had  rather  a  good  time,  naming  everything  we 
could  see  or  think  of,  birds,  animals,  fish,  and  trees. 


Indians  109 

At  last  they  found  a  tree  I  did  not  know  their  name 
for,  and  were  triumphant,  but  I  had  done  pretty  well. 
They  pointed  southwest  up  the  valley  from  Opetik  and 
said,  "  Nashkau  shebo," — one  could  go  to  Northwest 
(Nascaupee)  River  that  way.  Nashkau,  Nishku  in 
Montagnais,  is  the  Canada  goose.  There  is  probably 
a  confusion  in  calling  the  river  Nascaupee,  which  is 
a  common  if  an  uncomplimentary  name  for  a  northern 
Indian.  I  had  some  raisins  and  chocolate  which  I 
passed  about,  and  in  turn  one  of  them  gave  me  a  piece 
of  indifferent-tasting  caribou  tallow,  which  they  melt 
and  run  into  cakes.     It  was  slightly  turned. 

Jonny  E.  talked,  his  eye  on  my  rifle;  he  was  un- 
necessarily afraid  that  George  would  get  it,  and  told 
how,  when  I  finally  gave  out  the  night  I  boated  with 
him  and  George  to  the  Inlet,  and  went  to  sleep  on  the 
fish,  G.  had  helped  himself  largely  to  my  stock  of 
chocolate  and  bacon ;  things  which,  by  the  way,  I  could 
not  replace.  I  had  noticed  that  these  supplies  went 
down  remarkably  about  that  time.  As  it  was  rather 
late  for  Johnny  to  explain  his  position  as  accessory  I 
did  not  warm  toward  him.  Later  he  warned  me  of 
lice,  saying  that  he  often  had  one  or  two  after  boating 
Indians.  Although  I  was  certainly  well  mixed  in  with 
them  that  day  I  came  off  clear. 

The  Opetik  venture  came  to  little.  It  was  late  when 
we  arrived,  and  too  dark  for  pictures,  save  one  of  two 
boys  who  came  and  asked  to  be  taken  together;  one 
was  Nah-pay-o,  of  whom  I  was  to  see  something  in 
coming  years.  Nor  was  the  matter  of  darkness  the 
worst,  for  John  had  been  the  bearer  of  a  hint  to 
William  from  the  post,  and  he  refused  point  blank  to 
go  inland. 


110  Labrador 

The  up-river  tide  would  not  serve  until  two  in  the 
morning,  but  the  Indians  carried  their  things  some 
way  across  a  neck  to  their  embarking  place,  built  fires, 
cooked  and  waited.  I  was  left  alone  near  the  house 
for  a  time,  the  family  having  gone  over  with  the 
Indians.  A  dozen  large  dogs  were  going  about  to- 
gether. They  had  been  restive  and  excited  about  the 
Indians,  having  indeed  laid  hold  of  a  boy.  Fortunately 
the  family  were  there  and  clubbed  them  off.  Now  I 
was  walking  about,  thinking  what  to  do  and  oblivious 
of  all  dogs.  I  had  had  no  trouble  that  year  with  the 
many  I  had  been  among ;  but  I  smelt  as  Indian,  doubt- 
less, after  late  associations,  as  the  real  thing,  and  ought 
to  have  realized  the  danger  of  it. 

All  at  once  I  was  conscious  of  being  surrounded  by 
the  whole  group  of  dogs,  tails  up  and  moving  along 
with  me,  their  noses  and  closed  teeth  rubbing  against 
my  elbows  with  surpressed  growls;  only  a  snap  from 
one  and  the  whole  pack  would  have  me  down  and  in 
pieces.  It  was  a  bad  situation.  For  an  instant  rose 
the  mist  of  panic.  In  a  matter  of  seconds  my  eyes 
rolled  to  a  stick  not  far  away  which  I  could  reach 
without  stooping.  It  would  not  do  to  move  suddenly, 
and  I  strolled  as  before.  Once  I  clutched  the  stick, 
and  swung  it  high,  the  dogs  scattered.  Sticks  are 
swung  to  kill  on  that  coast. 

I  went  over  to  the  Indians,  singled  out  Katshiuas, 
and  told  him  I  wanted  to  see  a  little  of  the  country  and 
would  give  him  my  canoe  if  he  would  help  me  to  keep 
along  with  them  one,  two,  or  three  days,  and  would  give 
me  in  return  some  old  canoe  — "  ipishash  ush,  tshiash 
ush  " — "  a  small  canoe,  worn  canoe,"  and  I  would  come 


Indians  111 

back  by  myself,  "  nil  peiku,"  1 — "  myself  alone.''  He 
was  interested,  got  out  quite  a  good  canvas  canoe,  and 
offered  it  to  me.  "  Miam !  "— "  Good !  "  I  said,  but  he 
would  have  to  help  bring  my  stuff  over  the  neck,  and  I 
was  old  and  not  very  strong,  and  would  have  to  have  help 
on  the  march ;  some  one  would  have  to  go  in  my  canoe. 
He  called  some  of  the  young  men  from  their  blankets 
—  it  was  then  midnight  —  and  they  talked  together ; 
then  the  young  fellows  flatly  refused  to  take  me  on. 
It  was  not  strange,  they  were  heavily  loaded  and  I 
would  have  been  only  a  bother  on  my  own  showing. 
They  were  three  to  a  canoe,  and  as  to  trying  to  keep  up 
with  them  unaided,  besides  portaging  an  outfit  and  a 
ninety-pound  canoe,  and  over  the  hard  route  George  and 
I  had  taken  —  as  well  pursue  the  birds. 

I  sought  William's  floor  the  rest  of  the  night,  not 
without  mosquitoes.  At  three  or  so  came  a  loud  knock- 
ing at  the  door,  and  in  strode  Ashimaganish,  the  chief, 
demanding  from  dazed  William  a  piece  of  pork  which 
he  assumed  had  been  looted  from  one  of  his  men.  He 
was  very  rough.  It  really  seemed  as  if  we  would  have 
to  produce  it  quick  or  be  tomahawked,  but  it  could  not 
be  found.  William's  protestations  of  innocence  were 
received  with  the  very  worst  grace  by  A.,  but  he  went 
off  leaving  us  alive. 

When  I  went  to  the  beach  in  the  morning  there  was 
the  pork  in  my  canoe!  In  the  unloading  one  of  the 
house  people  had  naturally  taken  it  for  mine  and  put 
it  where  it  belonged.  As  I  remember,  I  made  some 
arrangement  with  W.  to  explain  next  time  the  Indians 
came  down,  but  I  could  not  be  very  sorry  that  A.  had 
not  found  it  where  it  was. 

1  Pay-eeku. 


112  Labrador 

Next  day  William  and  I  talked  a  long  time.  He 
was  hazy  and  unresponsive  when  I  tried  to  discuss  the 
Side  brook  country  and  the  ground  I  had  overlooked 
beyond.  I  could  not  make  him  out.  In  the  end  I  lost 
patience  and  put  on  the  screws :  "  You  know  well 
enough  how  the  brook  winds  above  the  rapids,  you 
must  know  that  fine  lake  on  the  head,  and  the  fall  with 
the  sharp  turn  to  the  north  where  the  river  slides  down 
the  high  rock !  "  Now  at  last  his  face  lighted,  "  You 
have  been  there,  after  all,  you  have  been  there."  The 
trouble  had  been  that  the  Opetik  people  thought  I 
merely  followed  George  back,  and  did  not  go  over  to 
Side  brook  at  all. 

Although  it  was  useless  to  try  to  keep  up  with  the 
Indians  alone,  they  would  be  two  days,  with  their  heavy 
loads,  in  getting  to  the  Assiwaban;  and  by  going  by 
sea  I  might  cut  in  ahead  of  them,  for  they  reach  the 
Asswiaban  -close  to  tide  water.  With  everything  my 
way  it  could  be  done  in  a  day,  a  long  one,  and  im- 
pelled by  a  dream  of  getting  pictures  of  the  Indians 
while  they  were  traveling,  I  started.  But  four  hours 
of  savage  pulling  against  a  strong  head  gale  left  me 
short  of  the  Big  Rattle,  and  though  things  improved 
then,  I  went  tired  and  left  off  at  five  o'clock,  camping 
behind  high  Tuh-pungiuk  Rock  just  inside  the  fine  bay 
of  that  name. 

The  wide,  easy  slopes  and  dignified  escarpments  west 
of  the  bay  are  grateful  to  the  eye  after  the  rugged  rock 
heights  of  the  outer  waters.  Eastward,  and  near,  are 
the  little  Un'sekat  islands  where  I  met  old  Abel  and  his 
women  in  July.  From  Tuh-pungiuk,  which  is  seven 
hundred  feet  high,  appeared  some  people  evidently 
Eskimo,  tending  a  net  in  the  sweeping  sand  crescent 


Indians  113 

which  runs  out  to  the  three  islands.  Not  caring  to 
disturb  the  peace  of  the  Un'sekat  mind  again  by  show- 
ing myself  just  at  night,  I  kept  out  of  sight.  My 
climb  up  the  hill  had  been  mainly  with  an  eye  to  an 
arctic  hare  for  supper,  but  there  were  only  signs,  and 
I  had  to  come  down,  in  more  than  one  sense  of  the 
word,  to  bacon.  It  was  my  last  night  on  the  moss  that 
year,  and  my  last  camp  alone. 

The  morning  of  the  7th  there  were  tails  of  sea  fog 
to  the  hilltops  and  a  moderate  northeaster  began  to 
drive  in,  cold  and  gloomy,  with  misty  rain.  I  started 
on,  but  it  took  an  hour's  hard  work  and  tossing  to  reach 
the  first  little  island,  hardly  a  mile  away.  It  was  clear 
that  I  could  not  get  around  and  up  the  Assiwaban  that 
day,  that  my  Indianizing  for  the  year  was  done. 
William  had  said  that  the  "  overfall  "  just  below  where 
the  Indians  would  take  the  river  was  ten  miles  above 
Side  brook.  It  was  really  only  a  mile  or  so,  but  even 
at  that  the  distance  was  at  least  thirty  miles  from  my 
camp  at  Tuh-pungiuk,  and  the  day  was  one  to  be  under 
cover. 

At  low  tide  the  three  little  Un'sekat  islands  are  united, 
and  I  was  able  to  walk  the  mile  to  the  Noahs'.  They 
were  not  afraid  now,  they  had  heard  about  me  from  the 
post,  and  asked  me  this  time  to  dinner,  with  a  welcome  in 
our  fashion.  Aboriginal  hands  are  small  and  shapely, 
one  finds  in  taking  them.  The  little  house  was,  I  judged, 
eleven  by  thirteen,  pretty  snug  for  the  eight  of  us.  But 
it  was  clean;  Antone's  wife,  who  it  appeared  was  a 
sister  of  William  and  David  Edmunds,  had  lived  at  the 
post  some  time  long  ago  and  had  not  forgotten  its  ways. 
There  was  soap  and  a  washtub  and  board,  these  out- 
doors, as  was  the  cooking  fire;  the  smell  of  the  cooking 


114  Labrador 

was  kept  out  of  the  little  house.  The  fire  inside  was 
only  for  warmth,  save  in  downright  rain.  Mrs.  Antone 
had  taken  hold  in  the  family  and  kept  them  up.  And 
they  were  all  kind,  even  as  being  Eskimo.  Dripping  as 
I  was,  in  oilcoat  shining  from  the  drive  of  the  icy  sea, 
outdone  by  the  elements,  the  warmth  and  welcome  went 
far  with  me.  For  me  were  the  best  seat  by  the  fire,  the 
valeting  by  kindly  hands,  the  dry,  hot  woolens  brought 
out,  the  best  of  the  trout  from  the  pan.  The  sound 
of  the  axe,  the  going  on  of  the  kettle,  the  intent  knife- 
point pricking  out  for  the  best  trout  —  these  are  memo- 
ries that  return. 

Toward  night  I  gathered  myself  to  go  back  to  my 
outfit,  meaning  to  sleep  under  the  canoe.  The  house 
was 'small,  nor  did  I  know  whether  it  would  do  to  take 
up  with  the  family  in  such  limited  quarters,  if  indeed 
they  cared  to  have  me.  They  protested ;  it  did  not  look 
right,  Mrs.  Antone  said,  for  a  person  to  go  off  alone 
that  way  in  a  cold  storm,  to  sleep  without  fire  —  why 
not  stay  with  them  and  be  comfortable.  It  came  to  the 
point  of  injury  to  their  feelings.  I  hesitated,  and 
yielded;  there  was  only  to  go  over  to  the  canoe  for  a 
blanket.  Now  appeared  some  sort  of  doubt,  perhaps 
in  part  curiosity.  They  were  still  in  uncertainties  of 
some  sort.  Then,  as  ever  during  the  days  I  was  there, 
I  was  not  permitted  to  go  out  of  sight  alone;  this  time 
it  was  the  stout  six-year  boy  who  went  along;  towed 
most  helpfully  over  the  hard  places  by  a  cord  tied  to 
the  neck  of  a  stout  young  dog.  I  was  glad  to  have 
them  along.  There  were  some  flocks  of  wonderfully 
tame  ducks  in  sheltered  nooks  by  the  way,  ruddies  I 
thought,  and  some  eiders  and  gulls,  the  latter  nearly 
silent  now  that  the  nesting-time  was  over. 


SEA   TROUT   AT   UN'SEKAT 


SQUARETAIL  AND  LAKE  TROUT,  ASSIWABAN  RIVER,   1906 


Indians  115 

Once  back  at  the  house,  with  a  few  supplies,  I  be- 
came fairly  one  of  the  family.  During  the  evening 
old  Mrs.  Noah  turned  and  dried  my  skin  boots,  working 
them  into  pliability  with  the  little  gouge-like  tool  they 
all  have,  and  stretching  and  pulling  them  into  shape. 
She  chewed  well  the  hard  places  with  short  experienced 
teeth,  sparing  no  pains,  until  the  boots  were  as  they 
had  never  been  before.  In  the  morning  they  were 
alongside  my  bed  as  fit  as  Sunday  gloves.  I  was 
mended  and  tended.  Never  too  many  are  these 
women's  hands  by  the  way,  and  one  never  forgets. 

After  I  had  been  undressed  and  put  to  bed,  they 
fetched  a.  long  piece  of  cloth,  like  bunting,  and  curtained 
it  around  me,  sleeping-car  fashion.  There  was  some 
rustling  afterward,  but  I  never  knew  how  they  stowed 
themselves,  and  when  I  turned  out  in  the  morning  they 
were  about  the  house  as  usual.  I  had  a  rare  sleep.  It 
was  too  cold  for  mosquitoes. 

It  is  the  usual  thing  hereabouts  to  have  the  summer 
house  on  some  such  rock  as  Un'sekat,  where  all  breezes 
help  against  mosquitoes.  The  half-white  people  of  the 
bays  are  more  apt  to  cling  to  their  winter  houses,  en- 
during and  complaining,  their  poor  dogs  making  warm 
nights  hideous  in  their  sleepless  torture.  A  dog  begins 
to  wail  his  misery,  another  takes  it  up,  and  presently 
all  are  in  full  cry  together.  It  is  well  to  camp  away 
from  dogs,  which  draw  flies,  if  possible  on  some  little 
rock  island.  Then,  if  one  have  netting  and  be  a  good 
sleeper,  something  can  be  done. 

The  Noahs'  interest  in  me,  partly  as  a  new  specimen 
in  natural  history,  and  more  as  to  what  I  was  going 
about  in  this  way  for,  never  quite  subsided.  Their 
original  uneasiness  came  a  good  deal  from  experiences 


116  Labrador 

of  the  coast  in  the  past  with  two  or  three  other  strangers 
who  had  passed  along.  One,  if  I  remember,  was  in- 
sane; another,  with  a  past,  had  committed  suicide  on 
being  identified  at  some  far  north  station.  As  to  this 
sort  of  thing  they  became  tolerably  reassured,  but  of 
course  no  one  would  come  away  from  the  world  and 
go  about  this  way  who  hadn't  something  on  his  mind. 
Mrs.  A.,  on  a  hazard,  was  explicitly  sympathetic  as  to 
my  past.  There  may  have  been  a  special  reason  for 
wishing  to  know  the  worst;  I  might  be  looking  for  a 
place  to  settle ;  such  things  had  happened,  and  the  young 
lady  of  the  family  was  eligible.  But  they  ought  to 
know  something  about  me.  One  cannot  be  too  careful 
in  these  things.  It  had  not  helped  matters  that  I  passed 
up  intentionally  through  the  Big  Rattle,  though  it  was 
as  smooth  as  oil  at  the  time.  "  You-are-a-doire-defl !  " 
said  Mrs.  A.,  in  the  queer  speech  she  had  before  her 
English  became  limbered  up.  Still,  not  to  abandon  her 
sex,  she  did  not  wholly  disapprove  my  supposed  reck- 
lessness, and  remained  always  sympathetic. 

The  second  day  the  women  went  to  the  net  behind 
the  island  and  I  was  left  alone  in  the  house.  After  a 
time  I  looked  out,  and  to  my  surprise  saw  four  men, 
Eskimo,  with  old  Abel  superintending,  laying  out  a  net 
on  the  beach-grass  a  few  yards  away.  How  they  got 
there  so  quietly  I  could  not  imagine.  Could  a  boat- 
load of  people  land  without  my  knowing  it,  without 
hearing  all  the  sharp-cut  Eskimo  talk  of  such  occasions? 
It  seemed  strange,  if  not  uncanny.  I  looked  harder, 
and  saw  that  it  was  simply  the  women  of  the  family, 
who  had  dropped  off  their  skirts  and  were  doing  their 
work  in  the  usual  men's  trousers  they  wore  underneath. 
Their  new  cut  was  much  more  appropriate  and  fit. 


Indians  117 

The  young  lady  of  the  house,  slim  and  straight,  with 
high-bred  shoulders,  looked  particularly  well  in  her 
handsome  sealskins.  Certainly  skirts  are  the  last  thing 
for  an  active  fisherwoman. 

Complete  enough  seemed  the  life  for  the  time.  There 
was  no  comfort  to  be  added  that  was  of  consequence; 
the  warm  hearth,  the  good  fare  of  the  sea,  the  kindly 
thought  of  the  people,  were  enough  for  the  day. 

Time  comes  when  almost  any  refuge,  and  this  was 
more  than  a  refuge,  goes  far  with  one ;  and  the  chancing 
upon  people  of  a  new  race  in  their  home  happens  not 
too  often.  The  alternative  with  me  was  weathering 
out  a  long  wet  northeaster,  at  near  freezing,  off  alone. 

We  lived  well.  A  nine-pound  salmon  came  in,  and 
there  were  always  fine  large  trout.  Some  one  would 
run  down  the  rocks,  bring  back  a  kettle  of  clear  sea 
water,  and  in  this  the  trout  would  be  boiled ;  there  was 
no  salt  but  that  of  the  sea  water.  At  first  fish  done 
this  way  tasted  flat  to  me,  with  a  trace  of  bitter,  but 
after  a  little  I  preferred  them  that.  way.  We  were 
certainly  doing  well.  "  Eat !  Eat  plentee !  There  is 
plentee !  "  old  Abel  would  say,  as  I  paused  over  the  fish. 
One  day  he  took  a  hammer  and  asked  me  to  go  along 
with  him,  across  the  little  island.  He  led  the  way  to  a 
boulder  of  lightish  trap,  much  like  others  about  in 
appearance,  but  unlike  them  it  rang  when  he  struck  it. 
He  thought  there  must  be  something  unusual  in  it, 
perhaps  gold,  to  be  so  different  from  the  dull-sounding 
stones  about.  I  had  the  ungrateful  task  of  explaining 
that  there  was  no  gold  in  it,  that  it  was  no  more  valuable 
than  the  other  stones.  One  would  not  expect  him  to 
notice  that  the  boulder  rang.  Eskimo  have  remarkable 
powers  of  observation  in  physical  matters,  not  to  say 


118  Labrador 

of  analysis.  The  well-known  block-and-tackle  purchase 
with  which  they  haul  out  walrus  and  other  heavy  water 
game  shows  this ;  even  though  they  may  have  taken  the 
idea  from  whalers,  their  clever  adaptation  of  it,  at  least, 
places  them  well  up  in  mechanical  conception.  They 
have  unusual  skull  capacity.  I  think  it  is  Deniker, 
among  the  ethnologists,  who  states  that  a  certain  string 
of  fifteen  Eskimo  skulls  had  greater  average  capacity 
than  any  similar  string  of  any  other  race. 

For  a  day  or  two  the  little  air  of  uncertainty  about 
me  did  not  change ;  the  family  were  still  at  a  loss  to  place 
me.  Then,  apparently,  they  came  into  a  new  light,  and 
the  way  of  it  was  hardly  to  be  expected.  It  was  a 
matter,  we  will  say,  of  botany.  The  flowers  of  the 
bleak,  exposed  place  were  almost  as  interesting  as  at 
Fanny's  earlier,  though  they  were  now  of  the  less  engag- 
ing types  of  early  fall.  I  happened  to  gather  a  few  and 
took  them  into  the  house  to  be  named.  Mrs.  Antone 
fell  to  and  we  had  a  session  over  them.  Some  of  the 
family  scattered  out  and  brought  others;  at  last,  as  a 
sure  climax,  a  dandelion!  I  really  ought  to  have 
withheld  my  having  seen  one  before.  With  this  flower 
episode  their  minds  considerably  cleared.  They  could 
understand  this ;  a  person  who  was  interested  in  flowers 
could  not  be  very  bad. 

About  the  islands  the  cotton-flower  grows  to  a  fine 
size,  with  its  great  white  boll.  It  is  "  Mitten  flower  " 
here,  Waw-lu-yuk.  I  asked  if  their  people  used  to 
wear  mittens  of  whitebear  cubs'  fur, — "  Yes,  how  did 
you  know?"  The  alder  is  "green-flower,"  ohiwi-uk. 
They  do  not  eat  the  dandelion ;  its  name  is  wis-uk-tuk, 
meaning,  as  I  remember,  "  yellow-flower."  The  mush- 
room or  toadstool  is  "  devilflower." 


Indians  119 

Antone  had  a  fast,  deep  sailboat,  and  was  generally 
prosperous  that  year.  He  had  sold  a  silver  fox  for 
$100,  twelve  white  foxes  and  six  reds,  and  besides  had 
shot  more  than  a  hundred  deer,  mostly  near  by.  "  He 
was  cracking  at  them  every  day,"  said  old  Abel.  They 
needed  that  many  deer,  between  family  and  dogs. 
When  deer  did  not  come  to  the  shore  A.  had  to  go 
out  to  the  open  water  for  seals,  and  evidently  did  not 
much  fancy  this  ice-edge  alternative.  The  ice  shifts 
out  and  in,  and  there  is  always  a  chance  of  being  carried 
out  to  sea.  The  only  birds  at  the  ice  edge  are  sea 
pigeons,  said  to  be  white  in  winter.  Antone  looked  me 
over  when  I  spoke  of  liking  to  have  a  winter  on  the 
coast,  and  said.     "  You  couldn't  stand  it." 

From  my  diary :  "  Caplin's  eggs  line  the  long 
beaches,  sometimes  three  inches  deep.  Sand  color  or 
paler.  The  people  dry  caplin  on  the  rocks  whole  for 
winter  dog  food.  The  ghost  of  a  smelt  in  appearance, 
it  is  the  rabbit  of  the  water,  on  which  everything  else 
feeds. 

"  There  are  eleven  dogs  altogether,  five  or  six  being 
puppies.  So  far  from  being  without  feeling  for  their 
masters,  they  are  sociable  and  good  companions.  Like 
most  dogs  kept  in  numbers  they  are  not  quite  so  re- 
sponsive as  ours,  but  knock  about  the  place  in  a  stout, 
self-reliant  way,  hairing  up  readily  at  each  other,  but 
behaving  pretty  well  at  that.  They  are  easily  started 
off  into  a  pandemonium  of  howling.  I  have  not  heard 
them  bark  yet,  though  they  do,  I  am  told,  under  some 
circumstances.  Immemorial  use  at  the  sleds  has  given 
them  a  peculiar  bracing  set  behind,  as  if  all  ready  to 
pull.  All  here  are  fat,  living  principally  on  coarse  fish 
caught  in  the  trout  nets,  sculpin,  rock  cod,  and  flounders, 


120  Labrador 

besides  the  waste  from  the  trout,  and  by  beach-combing 
about  the  shores  on  their  own  account."  Curiously, 
they  like  the  sculpins  best  of  all,  and  not  only  they,  but 
some  people  think  very  well  of  them. 

The  dogs  look  singularly  well,  happy,  and  at  home 
when  living  with  Eskimo  in  this  way,  as  in  their  glory ; 
those  I  have  seen  in  the  bays  have  not  looked  as  well 
off,  and  those  of  the  mission  villages  and  posts  almost 
always  seem  inferior. 

Antone  agreed  to  sail  me  to  Fanny's  when  the 
weather  improved,  as  it  did  in  three  or  four  days. 
The  distance,  some  sixty  miles,  was  too  much  for  me 
to  take  on  by  canoe  without  large  allowance  for  de- 
lays. I  have  never  undertaken  long  distances  on  the 
coast  by  canoe  very  willingly,  either  by  day  or  night, 
the  conditions  are  too  uncertain.  One  year  two  young 
men  of  the  shore,  rather  venturesome  ones  at  that, 
were  three  weeks  with  a  good  sailboat  going  from 
Hopedale  to  Nain  and  back,  although  in  winter  the  dis- 
tance one  way  has  been  made  in  a  single  day  with  dogs. 

The  day  came  at  last.  I  was  not  glad  to  leave. 
People  of  wilderness  places  always  stand  at  the  shore 
as  you  go ;  and  the  women  wave  as  you  make  the  offing. 

It  was  only  the  Little  Rattle  this  time.  The  current 
was  strong  and  the  place  narrow.  There  was  wind, 
but  fast  as  the  boat  was  she  could  not  beat  through. 
When  we  came  about,  the  current  took  us  back  too  far. 
Again  and  again  Antone  tried,  then  lay  in  the  eddy 
until  the  tide  slacked  and  we  could  pass  the  bar.  Now 
Antone  showed  his  quality  and  his  craft  hers.  He 
would  let  me  touch  nothing,  tiller  nor  sheet  nor  spar; 
I  might  have  been  a  child.  When  I  became  cold  he 
invited  me  to  get  into  his  fine  seal  sleeping  bag,  with 


Indians  121 

its  white  blanket  lining.  I  looked  ruefully  at  my  skin 
boots,  wet  and  not  too  clean.  "  It  can  be  washed,"  he 
said  shortly,  and  I  slid  in.  The  sheets,  beautifully  cut 
lines  of  some  large  seal,  greased,  small  but  unbreakable, 
all  ran  to  cleats  within  Antone's  reach  as  he  sat  at  the 
tiller.  With  flying  hands,  the  tiller  let  go,  he  would 
cast  off  and  cleat  the  lines  when  we  came  about,  as  a 
master  plays  his  keys;  like  a  demon  he  would  bound 
forward  to  hold  some  fluttering  sail  for  -an  instant  to 
the  swing  of  the  wind,  and  we  never  missed  the  turn. 
The  waters  he  knew.  At  full  speed,  the  boat  lying 
over,  he  would  dash  for  the  rock  shore  until  I  quivered, 
then  short  about  and  off  for  some  far  point,  where,  as 
we  swung  by,  terrorized  eiders  tore  from  under  the 
lee  and  sea  pigeons  shot  from  below  water  into  the 
air  as  if  fired  from  guns.  Recovered,  the  pigeons 
would  swing  afar  and  come  close  over  again,  peering 
down  at  us  curiously,  all  black  below,  and  their  bright 
red  feet  steering  behind. 

Later  the  wind  eased.  We  passed  Jim  Lane's,  two 
miles  away,  across  the  wide  passage;  he  spoke  regret- 
fully of  it  when  I  saw  him  next,  two  years  later,  but 
we  had  feared  losing  the  wind,  and  it  was  a  long  way 
to  Fanny's.  Jim  is  the  best  of  the  best !  It  calmed  off 
finally.  Somewhere  about  Shung-ho  we  met  the 
Eskimo  John  and  his  wife,  who  were  "  going  up  to  help 
Antone  " ;  to  help  Antone  do  what  is  not  important ;  I 
think  it  was  to  get  out  some  "  wood,"  timber  we  should 
call  it,  for  a  house.  It  would  have  been  as  well,  as 
things  went  next  day,  if  we  had  not  met  them.  Not 
to  invest  useful  John,  good  shot  and  good  hunter,  still 
less  his  ample  wife,  with  the  dignity  of  an  evil  genius, 
it  would  have  been  as  well,  just  as  it  would  have  been 


122  Labrador 

if  he  had  not  reached  Opetik  sooner  than  I  did  the 
week  before  and  kept  William  from  going  inland  with 
me.  We  all  landed  on  a  large  boulder  with  deep  water 
around  to  boil  a  kettle  and  have  tea.  In  landing  J. 
sailed  his  boat  square  into  my  canoe  —  it  was  tailing 
behind  our  boat  —  and  made  no  apology.  I  was  cold 
and  cross,  and  snapped  at  him  for  doing  it.  He  was 
impudent,  I  responded,  and  he  in  turn,  and  in  the  end 
threatened  me.  I  couldn't  "  come  into  their  country 
and  growl  this  way."  There  was  something  about 
breaking  me  in  two.  We  were  all  on  the  boulder  to- 
gether. Antone  was  evidently  a  well-knit  friend  of 
Mrs.  J.,  and  began  to  look  black  as  things  came  to  a 
climax.  No  one  likes  to  be  held  to  the  mark  in  the 
presence  of  his  women  folk,  and  Antone's  position  was 
not  much  easier  than  J.'s.  It  wouldn't  do  to  recede, 
so  I  pulled  off  my  gloves,  slapped  them  down  on  the 
rock  one  by  one,  stood  clear  and  waited.  They  were 
not  boxers,  the  first;  one  would  go  overboard.  But 
Eskimo  do  not  know  when  to  stop,  and,  woman  and 
all,  the  situation  might  become  mixed.  But  nothing 
ever  quite  happens,  not  under  the  Union  Jack,  nor  did 
then. 

We  ate  silently  and  parted.  Some  way  along  Antone 
tied  up,  and  we  slept  uncomfortably  in  the  boat,  with 
flies.  We  were  at  Daniel's  in  the  morning,  where  a 
kutshituk  was  again  hopping  about  over  the  dogs.  The 
wind  rose  strongly  from  south  of  east,  and  we  made  the 
post  early.  Antone  had  talked  of  getting  some  one  to 
go  to  the  cape  with  us,  as  he  did  not  know  the  waters 
well.  .  He  needed  some  one,  fairly,  but  there  was  no 
one  to  go,  and  in  the  end  he  gave  out.  The  foot  of 
the  run  was  white,  and  he  did  not  like  to  go  into  strange 


JIM  LANE 


A  BEAR,  BEAR  POND,   1905 


Indians  123 

waters  in  such  weather;  moreover  Mr.  and  Mrs.  John 
were  at  Un'sekat  waiting  for  him.  The  fine  diplo- 
matic hand  of  John,  after  our  tiff,  may  have  been  con- 
cerned in  the  matter. 

I  explained  how  ill  it  left  me  for  the  mailboat,  and 
that  I  should  have  gone  to  Nain  if  he  had  not  said 
he  would  take  me  to  Spracklin's,  but  he  did  not  waver. 
Before  long  he  walked  off  for  his  boat,  the  wind  being 
fair,  without  asking  for  his  pay.  "  Where  are  you 
going?"  I  put  in,  "  Home."  "Come  back,  I  haven't 
paid  you."  He  came,  surprised,  and  I  handed  him 
five  dollars,  the  first  he  had  ever  had  no  doubt.  He 
did  not  fall  into  the  sea  in  his  astonishment,  but  looked 
near  it.  For  some  time  he  hung  about,  trying  to  do 
things  for  me,  and  finally  left  with  a  good  deal  of  light 
in  his  face,  which  has  never  failed  in  the  years  since 
whenever  we  have  met.  I  doubt  if  the  Un'sekat  people 
had  any  thought  of  my  paying  them,  certainly  not  for 
taking  care  of  me.  As  to  boating  me  away  from  their 
place,  it  obviously  had  to  be  done,  unless  I  was  going 
to  stay,  and  that  was  all  there  was  about  it.  That  I 
had  worldly  possessions  to  speak  of,  there  or  anywhere, 
did  not  enter  their  minds,  I  think. 

So  it  is  in  their  world ;  the  wanderer  must  have  what 
he  requires,  shelter  and  food  and  help  on  his  way  if 
he  needs  it  —  these  at  least  and  of  course. 

I  asked  the  post  people  to  put  me  across  the  big  bay 
with  their  large  boat,  pointing  out  that  it  was  no 
weather  for  canoeing,  and  offering  to  pay  almost  any- 
thing. But  they  refused ;  they  were  too  busy.  Cotter, 
however,  was  going  down  himself  on  the  second  day 
after  and  would  take  me  along;  he  would  get  there 
first  anyway.     (This  I  did  not  forget  later.)     But  I 


124  Labrador 

was  not  willing  to  take  chances  on  the  steamer  this 
time,  and  though  I  stayed  over  night  at  the  post,  which 
could  not  well  be  helped,  I  waited  no  longer. 

Here  my  diary  becomes  rather  unjust  and  certainly 
spiteful  toward  some  pretty  good  people  along  the 
shore.  I  was  a  good  deal  excercised.  The  entry  con- 
cludes, helplessly,  "  Well,  here  I  am,  wind  bound,  the 
look  of  rain  in  the  clouds  and  a  steamer  to  catch !  " 

When  I  got  off  in  the  morning  it  looked  impossible 
to  go  beyond  the  foot  of  the  run.  The  tide  was  going 
out  strong,  a  swell  coming  in  from  the  open,  and  a 
sharp  white  sea  from  the  cape  east.  It  made  a  jump- 
ing lop,  striking  at  everything.  All  I  had  in  mind  was 
to  drop  down  that  far,  camp,  and  be  on  the  spot  when- 
ever it  would  do  to  go  on ;  at  least  I  was  now  fresh  to 
row.  Sometimes,  however,  things  are  better  than  they 
look.  Inching  gradually  into  the  bad-looking  mess 
at  the  foot  of  the  run  I  found  that  the  canoe  was  not 
taking  the  least  water,  and  held  on  for  some  time. 
But  the  irregular  motion,  the  pitching  and  sudden  jumps 
of  the  light  canoe  in  the  tide  rips  were  so  wearing 
that  I  gave  up.  There  was  no  danger,  and  not  much 
to  do  but  balance  and  be  thrown  about,  but  the  motion 
was  too  exhausting.  Along  the  mainland  was  a  line 
of  "  barricados,"  as  often  happens,  boulders  shoved 
up  by  the  ice.  They  call  them  belly-carders  here,  in 
good  faith.  Behind  them  was  a  sand  flat  just  awash, 
so  that  after  passing  between  the  boulders  it  was  possible 
to  walk  along  dry  shod  in  skin  boots  and  drag  the 
canoe.  It  was  easy  going  after  the  bobble  of  the  run. 
Flowers'  bay,  next,  was  out  of  the  current,  though 
lively,  and  by  one  o'clock  I  was  across  and  boiling  a 
kettle  on  the  southern  point.     The  swell  was  mostly 


Indians  125 

cut  off  here  by  Massacre  Island  outside.  Six  hours 
more  and  I  was  across  Lane's  Bay. 

From  the  north  side  of  the  bay  I  had  seen  what 
looked  to  be  some  trap  boats  with  masts  a  mile  above 
the  south  point,  but  after  two  hour's  rowing  they 
turned  out  to  be  large  schooners.  I  tried  to  talk  with 
a  skipper,  and  would  not  have  minded  a  passing  chat 
by  the  stove  and  a  cup  of  tea,  but  he  had  all  the 
shadowed  reticence,  and  in  that  case,  disagreeableness, 
of  the  skipper  "  on  fish,"  afraid  the  word  will  be 
passed  along  and  bring  in  other  schooners ;  and  I  pulled 
away  hoping  never  to  see  him  or  his  again.  Heavens ! 
His  countenance,  save  perhaps  for  the  beard,  few  would 
care  to  have ! 

An  ill-natured  extra  mile  against  the  tide  and  at 
right  angles  to  my  proper  course,  to  Black  Point,  and 
the  last  stretch  to  the  cape  harbor  opened  up.  It  was 
slow  work,  all  day.  The  canoe,  wonderful  as  she  was 
at  keeping  on  top,  at  taking  care  of  one  whatever  came, 
was  apt  to  pound  when  against  a  short  sea,  and  spattered 
up  spray  which  rained  down  inboard.  She  had  to  be 
eased  over  the  top  of  every  wave.  In  the  hour  after 
lunch  I  may  have  made  a  half  mile;  the  wind  was 
strongest  then,  and  the  sea,  though  coming  off  the  cape 
island  and  not  high,  was  well  whitened.  It  was  not 
the  pulling,  but  the  incessant  pitch  and  throw  of  the 
corky  craft  that  told  with  the  hours.  Sitting  in  the 
middle  leaves  the  boat  wonderfully  free  to  rise,  balance, 
and  elude  what  comes,  but  one's  waist,  which  has  to  be 
the  universal  joint  of  all  gyrations,  gets  hard  wear.  In 
flat  water  one  could  row  forever. 

I  have  never  seen  a  white  man's  canoe  that  would 
drive  fast  into  a  steep  sea  and  keep  dry.     The  lines  of 


126  Labrador 

the  sea  creatures  are  not  in  them.  The  Indians'  sea 
canoes  are  another  matter.     They  can  be  driven. 

Once  under  the  White  Point,  where  the  fog  shut  in 
on  my  night  trip  down,  the  water  became  level.  At 
ten  I  was  on  the  sand  beach  at  the  end  of  the  cape 
harbor,  after  thirteen  hours  of  actual  rowing.  It  was 
unusually  dark.  My  back  was  numb,  and  as  I  stepped 
about  looking  for  white  and  visible  bits  of  firewood, 
without  much  directing  power,  it  was  as  if  on  stilts, 
and  it  was  no  joke  getting  down  to  pick  up  a  piece  of 
wood  when  I  found  it.  After  awhile  I  got  together 
enough  to  do  with  and  what  followed  was  worth  while. 
It  was  a  time  to  let  out,  and  I  cooked  and  cooked  and 
smoked  to  the  limit,  content.  It  was  good  travel, 
it  was  good  to  make  port.  At  such  times  one  asks  no 
odds  of  the  world. 

After  midnight  I  took  a  pack  over  the  portage,  mean- 
ing to  continue  around  the  harbor  a  mile  and  a  half 
more,  but  the  sloping  rocks  with  water  below  would 
not  do,  dark  as  it  was.  I  could  not  see  my  feet  or 
footing  much,  and  was  unsteady  in  getting  about,  for 
the  stilts  continued.  I  was  not  too  sure  even  of  get- 
ting the  canoe  over  the  portage.  By  the  time  I  was 
back  for  her,  however,  circulation  was  on  again,  and 
the  stilts  became  legs.  The  tide  was  out,  and  gave 
me  a  nasty  slow  time  getting  out  over  the  mud  and  again 
to  the  land  on  the  other  side.  One  wants  an  easy  bit 
after  eighteen  hours  on  the  road,  and  slipping  around 
as  if  on  banana  skins  at  two  in  the  morning  with  a 
canoe  on  is  not  sport.  It  seemed  as  if  half  the  width 
of  the  harbor  was  only  awash.  After  all,  the  canoe 
picked  up  lightly  enough  for  the  last  lift  above  tide 
mark. 


Indians  127 

Spracklin  did  not  wake  when  I  lighted  a  match  over 
him  and  spoke,  and  knowing  his  desperate  pace  and 
short  hours  of  sleep  I  turned  away  from  his  raised 
arms,  bandaged  for  his  many  "  pups,"  and  pulling  off 
my  wet  boots  fell  upon  the  narrow,  one-sided  old  lounge 
and  banked  myself  up  against  the  back.  Almost  like 
the  shutting  of  a  steel  trap  I  went  dead  to  the  world. 
The  house  had  felt  warm,  coming  from  outside,  but 
I  ought  to  have  covered  myself.  Damp  from  salt 
water  and  perspiration,  in  an  hour  I  woke  up  chattering, 
pulled  out  my  sleeping  bag  and  got  in,  and  there  Sprack- 
lin found  my  mortal  semblance  in  the  morning. 

The  rest  was  not  much  more  than  getting  home. 
For  a  day  I  sat  about,  ate  a  deal  of  fish,  and  slept. 
The  second  morning  I  was  putting  the  canoe  in  to  go 
jigging  c°d,  when  the  stones  rattled,  and  along  the 
beach  came  Cotter,  with  young  Jerry  Oliver,  bearing 
a  box.  They  had  been  becalmed,  nighted  chilly  on  a 
barren  rock  without  blanket  or  fire,  and  looked  as  if 
they  had  had  enough  of  it.  Then  came  my  revenge; 
easily  Cotter  had  said  that  he  would  get  there  first. 
We  had  some  good  talks  the  next  days,  and  many  in 
years  following. 

It  was  Tuesday,  the  nth,  that  I  rowed  down  from 
the  inlet;  it  was  to  be  Monday,  the  17th,  before  the 
mailboat  came.  Fish  were  still  scarce;  I  have  a  note 
of  six  hundred  quintals  for  each  side.  The  nets  had 
been  out  of  water  in  some  of  the  best  fishing.  Tom 
Poole,  the  foreman,  and  another  of  the  crew  rowed  to 
an  island  far  outside  and  jigged  a  boatload  of  large 
fish,  jigging  right  and  left,  four  lines  to  two  men. 
They  slat  them  off  the  hook  over  a  crosspiece  in  front 
of  the  fisher;  there  is  no  time  for  fussing. 


128  Labrador 

From  my  diary :  "  August  15.  A  clear,  warm  day, 
all  rocks  and  air  and  sunshine,  a  sea  blue  and  sparkling, 
and  a  fine  line  of  bergs  passing  south.  Tall  ice  is 
never  wanting  on  the  eastern  sky  line ;  it  gives  the  key- 
note to  this  barren  rock  region,  its  real  latitude. 

"  Some  snow  is  left,  always  in  the  most  sunny 
hollows  under  the  ridges,  where  the  northwest  winds 
pile  the  deepest  drifts.  There  is  no  level  snow  in 
winter,  all  is  gathered  behind  something.  The  stream 
across  from  the  stage  is  dried  up,  as  I  found  on  going 
over  to  fish.  New  flowers  have  come,  not  many.  Red- 
berries  are  eatable  now,  though  in  blossom  a  month 
ago;  the  forcing  effect  of  the  long  sunshine  is  remark- 
able. Young  birds  are  about,  sandpipers  and  the  like, 
and  land  sparrows.  Snow  buntings  will  be  here  soon, 
everywhere.  The  gulls  are  nearly  silent',  the  ravens 
still  more  so,  but  hold  on  in  the  ledges  across  the  harbor. 
In  the  clear  water  off  the  landing  stage  rock-cod  and 
sculpins  work  about  the  fishheads  thrown  over. 
Spracklin  says  there  are  clams  here,  which  the  '  Eski- 
maws '  eat. 

"  I  jigged  cod  at  times,  by  an  island  near,  in  two 
or  three  fathoms'  depth.  A  dozen  fish  would  hang 
just  over  the  jig  in  the  close  circle,  heads  in,  making 
passes  for  it,  and  generally  getting  the  hook  under  the 
broad  jaw.  The  jig  is  sawed  up  and  down  fifteen  or 
eighteen  inches  just  over  the  kelp.  In  three  or  four 
easy  jerks  I  would  have  a  fish,  and  was  sometimes 
well  loaded  down  in  a  couple  of  hours.  In  the  boat 
they  yield  a  little  like  water  with  the  motion  of  row- 
ing, especially  in  a  swell,  and  are  a  peculiarly  dead  load 
for  a  canoe.     In  a  steep  sea  they  might  easily  slide 


Indians  129 

to  one  end  and  make  trouble;  compartments  are  the 
thing,  to  keep  them  distributed. 

"  The  jig  is  a  cruel  thing;  many  fish  get  away  badly 
torn.  The  waste  is  great.  Moreover,  if  we  must  kill, 
let  us  kill  mercifully,  at  least  as  mercifully  as  do  most 
savages.  The  jigger,  the  steel  trap,  and  the  shotgun 
as  commonly  used,  are  maimers  and  torturers. 

"  When  a  fish  is  hurt  he  hurries  away  for  the  '  doc- 
tor,' a  beetlish  bug  which  fastens  to  the  wound  until  it 
heals.  This  doctor  and  his  mission  are  told  of  seriously 
on  all  the  fishing  coast.  There  is  no  questioning  the 
doctor's  existence  and  activity,  though  the  motives  for 
his  attentions  may  be  suspected. 

"  We  have  been  eating  cods'  livers,  tasting  like  con- 
centrated pate  de  fois  gras.  They  are  rather  too  rich ; 
if  one  eats  many  at  a  time  the  world  is  all  cod  liver 
that  day.  Subdued  by  parboiling  they  come  in  well. 
Technically  they  are  "  blubber,"  as  all  grease-bearing 
things  are.  The  universal  blubber  cask  of  the  coast 
is  strongly  in  evidence  to  all  senses,  including,  when 
fermentation  is  going  on,  that  of  hearing. 

"  Sunday,  16th.  No  mailboat  yet,  though  all  felt 
that  she  would  come.  .  .  .  Bruise  for  breakfast' — ■ 
good  S.  and  Tom  Poole  treating  their  '  pups,'  which 
come  of  the  slime  and  wrist-work.  They  are  bad  to 
see. 

"  It  is  half  a  jail  matter,  this  waiting  without  being 
safe  in  going  out  of  sight  at  all.  In  clear  weather  it 
is  not  so  bad  —  one  can  go  up  on  the  hill  and  look  for 
the  steamer.  In  foggy  weather  it  is  wretched.  No 
reading  matter  left. 

"  Spracklin  looks   rested  since  the  fishing  slacked. 


130  Labrador 

He  tells  of  the  exact  ways  of  the  Hudson's  Bay  Com- 
pany people.  Their  carefulness  goes  into  post  details; 
a  former  agent  at  the  Inlet  cut  some  timber  himself, 
sawed  the  boards,  and  enlarged  the  dining-room. 
When  the  chief  came  along  he  had  him  pull  it  all  down 
because  it  had  not  been  reported. 

"  Skipper  Jim  is  not  so  afraid  that  I  will  fall  to 
pieces  now,  remarking  when  Cotter  was  here  and  we 
were  sitting  about  with  one  or  two  visiting  skippers. 
'  Do  you  know  what  I  said  to  myself  about  you  the 
morning  you  came  up  on  the  stage  ?  I  said  to  myself, 
"  Has  that  man  come  up  here  to  die?  "  Then  C.  put 
in,  in  a  tone  of  cheerful  support,  *  Well,  I  didn't  see  him 
then,  but  I  saw  him  when  he  got  to  my  landing ! ' 

"  It  is  a  good  vitalizing  climate.  The  Newfound- 
landers say,  when  worse  for  the  winter,  '  Oh,  well, 
I'll  be  all  right  when  I  get  to  the  Labrador.'  There 
is  less  fog  than  in  Newfoundland,  less  housing  with 
others  who  are  sick,  the  light  summer  buildings  are 
more  sanitary.  And  fish-smells,  however  fierce,  seem 
harmless." 

They  can  be  trying  nevertheless.  The  night  before 
the  mailboat  came  it  was  nearly  calm,  with  an  air  from 
the  great  refuse  pile  under  the  stage  straight  to  my 
window.  It  kept  me  awake.  But  for  fear  of  another 
night  of  it  I  should  have  waited  for  the  boat  to  come 
back  from  Nain,  where  it  turned  out  she  was  going. 
However,  the  chance  to  see  the  place  was  worth  taking. 
As  we  passed  north  outside  the  islands,  familiar  land- 
marks appeared  far  away  along  the  mainland.  Tuh- 
pungiuk  was  the  plainest  of  them,  a  dozen  miles  away. 
There  still,  doubtless,  were  the  Noahs,  tending  their 
nets. 


A  FINBACK,  HAWK  HARBOR 


THE    BEGINNING   OF   THE    PACK,    CAPE    HARRIGAN,  1905 


Indians  131 

Further  south  there  was  much  talk  of  Hubbard,  and 
some  anxiety.  He  had  gone  light,  and  his  prospects 
of  success  were  doubtful,  especially  as  it  was  thought 
he  had  no  gill  net,  but  I  did  not  expect  the  tragedy  that 
occurred. 

Towards  the  straits  Norman  Duncan  came  on  with 
Briggs,  his  publisher's  manager.  Other  Americans 
came  on  along,  Hewitt,  of  Boston,  climbing  up  the  side 
with  peculiar  good  will  after  having  had  two  or  three 
weeks'  waiting  on  short  provisions.  At  Twillingate, 
one  of  the  best  of  the  fishing  towns,  Duncan  and  Briggs 
and  I  spent  a  day  or  two  of  beautiful  sunny  weather, 
the  very  first  of  the  summer  there.  Fog  had  prevailed 
every  day  until  then.  Fancy  the  women  ghosting  about 
all  summer  in  the  fog,  the  men  gone  "  down  to  the 
Labrador!"  Duncan  stayed  off  at  Exploits  with  his 
friends,  the  Manuels.  Briggs  and  I  took  the  Clyde  to 
Lewisport,  and  went  on  by  rail,  parting  at  Boston. 
My  summer  reconnoissance,  planned  by  the  printed 
timetables  for  three  weeks  if  I  did  not  stop  off  at 
Fanny's,  five  if  I  did,  had  lasted  just  seventy  days. 


CHAPTER  VI 
1904 

In  1904  Robert  Walcott  and  I  left  Boston  by  rail, 
July  18,  without  much  intention  beyond  that  of  trying 
the  Assiwaban  River,  perhaps  staying  inland  over  two 
steamer  trips,  nominally  a  month.  The  planning  was 
merely  a  telephone  matter  —  we  were  talking,  found 
that  both  felt  like  going  somewhere,  and  were  off  in 
a  day  or  two  without  many  words.  I  happened  to 
know  about  sailing  dates,  also  that  there  was  a  canoe 
to  be  had  in  St.  John's.  We  bought  the  canoe  by 
telegraph,  and  it  was  waiting  us  on  board  the  Virginia 
Lake  when  we  boarded  her  at  Battle  Harbor.  It  looked 
large,  on  the  deckhouse,  and  when  we  walked  over 
and  lifted  it  our  misgivings  became  fixed.  She  weighed 
one  hundred  and  forty-one  pounds,  dry  and  light; 
although  a  canoe  in  shape  and  canvas  skin,  she  only 
wanted  rowing  gear  to  be  a  good  stout  rowboat.  She 
was  a  good  piece  of  work,  her  maker  being  that  rare 
mechanic  Gerrish  of  Maine,  from  whose  camp  on  B 
pond,  years  before,  I  had  climbed  an  eastern  hill  and 
seen  for  the  first  time  the  grand  southwestern  rampart 
of  Katahdin. 

Our  doing  much  portaging  with  such  a  craft  was 
out  of  the  question.  Still  I  remembered  the  blue 
Assiwaban  stretching  thirty  miles  inland  without  heavy 
rapids;  we  could  go  that  far,  surely.     Our  trip  from 

132 


1904  133 

Boston  to  Nam  was  a  record  one,  nine  days  to  an 
hour,  allowing  for  change  of  longitude.  We  might 
have  saved  something  like  a  day  on  that,  if  the  captain 
of  the  Home,  from  Bay  of  Islands  through  the  Gulf 
to  Battle  Harbor,  had  not  held  back  unnecessarily,  for 
the  Virginia  Lake  had  waited  for  us  nearly  or  quite 
twenty- four  hours  as  it  was  —  for  us  two  only,  and  on 
a  perfect  day  such  as  really  counts  for  two  days  on  that 
foggy,  uncertain  coast.  The  feelings  of  Captain  Par- 
sons, as  the  hours  went  by,  may  be  imagined,  not  to 
mention  those  of  the  discouraged  passengers.  Know- 
ing the  way  of  things  there  I  felt  as  if  we  had  murdered 
a  steamer  voyage,  and  hastily  went  below  until  we  were 
off  and  in  another  air. 

Peter  McKenzie,  the  Hudson's  Bay  Company  mana- 
ger, was  on,  and  of  all  others  to  meet  there,  Stuart 
Cotter.  He  had  made  a  new  contract  with  the  com- 
pany, and  was  taking  charge  at  Northwest  River,  but 
although  all  the  Davis  Inlet  coast  had  believed  that  he 
would  make  the  very  most  of  his  trip  across  the  water 
he  was  still  a  bachelor. 

We  were  some  time  at  Rigolet,  and  there  the  Hud- 
son's Bay  Company  people  got  off.  Captain  Gray  and 
the  Pelican  were  waiting  for  them,  and  at  a  kind  hint 
from  Peter  we  were  asked  to  go  north  by  their  ship. 
Chances  looked  better  with  the  mailboat,  and  we  did 
not  change.  It  turned  out  better  so,  decidedly,  for  the 
Pelican  took  bottom  in  getting  out  of  Cartwright,  and 
it  was  many  a  day  before  she  saw  Davis  Inlet  again. 

McKenzie  had  nine  wooden  canoes,  Peterboros,  six- 
teen feet  by  thirty-eight  inches  by  sixteen  inches,  strong 
and  serviceable  boats.  He  asked  me  what  I  thought 
of  them,  but  did  not  say  what  I  came  to  know  after- 


134  Labrador 

ward,  that  some  or  all  of  them  were  presents  for  his 
old  Naskapi  friends  at  Chimo.  In  all  the  North  he 
was  then  known  to  the  Indians  as  "  Our  Father  Mc- 
Kenzie,"  and  he  deserved  the  title.  During  his  twelve 
or  fourteen  years  at  Chimo  he  had  saved  them  from 
starvation  more  than  once  by  organizing  their  deer 
hunts.  It  is  probable  that  no  one  else  has  ever  had 
their  confidence  and  affection  as  he  did.  He  was  part 
Indian  himself,  and  the  blood  told,  with  whatever 
allowance  for  his  remarkable  personality. 

The  Spracklins  were  not  doing  much  as  to  fish.  We 
had  but  a  short  visit,  merely  while  the  mail  was  being 
made  up.  Ellen  was  still  the  mainstay.  The  old 
place  and  people  looked  home  to  me,  indeed.  The  little 
sunny  sitting-room  with  the  stove  and  the  corner  cup- 
board, the  chairs  and  old  lounge  on  which  in  conjunc- 
tion we  used  to  cobble  up  the  lance  net  for  my  bed,  were 
there  unchanged.  The  room  was  always  good  to  be 
in.  Things  had  to  be  fairly  near  each  other  from 
necessity,  but  Spracklin  was  one  of  the  few  men  who 
have  a  touch  in  living-rooms.  One  would  as  soon 
think  of  rearranging  the  fins  on  one  of  his  cod  as  any- 
thing he  had  set  about.  I  was  there  many  a  day  before 
I  saw  how  right  the  little  place  was.  Men  of  the  sea 
more  than  others,  perhaps,  can  be  shipshape  without 
falling  into  the  geometrically  unpleasant. 

The  place  about,  too,  was  always  shipshape,  in  order. 
Spracklin  was  always  painting  things,  boats  and  gear 
and  buildings,  down  to  the  full  round  bull's-eyes  accu- 
rately done  in  white  on  every  door  about  the  station. 
These  helped  one  tell  the  door  in  the  night,  maybe,  but 
Spracklin  did  it  to  label  his  entrances,  his  flat  doors; 
it  pleased  his  eye. 


1904  135 

We  were  at  Nain  at  ten  in  the  morning,  and  away 
southward  by  one.  The  feature  of  the  voyage  to 
Voisey's,  some  twenty-five  miles,  was  the  Eskimo  boy, 
a  waif  about  the  mission,  who  went  along  to  try  to 
find  the  way.  He  had  been  over  it  only  once,  some 
time  before.  The  navigation  itself  was  on  calm  water 
and  uninteresting;  our  craft  was  slow  on  water  and  a 
crusher  on  land.  The  boy  paddled  softly,  he  had  never 
done  it  before  and  his  arms  ached.  He  took  our  nag- 
ging as  imperturbably  as  an  old  farm  horse.  We  had 
to  have  what  help  he  could  give,  for  the  passages  were 
wide,  the  shores  high,  and  old  saws  about  getting  over 
your  large  waters  while  it  is  calm  were  all  to  the  point. 
How  the  wind  can  blow  in  those  long  passages  that 
stretch  off  below  Nain!  They  are  noble  passages  to 
see. 

I  had  said  much  to  W.  about  grampuses,  especially 
about  the  grampus  of  Un'sekat,  and  when  a  very  large 
one  crossed  our  wake  rather  near,  and  snorted  prodi- 
giously, he  certainly  looked  around.  I  think  I  had 
given  him  the  impression  that  almost  all  grampuses 
came  up  under  one's  canoe. 

Where  we  lunched,  some  six  miles  down,  below 
"  the  rattle,"  the  boy  wandered  unnoticed  and  found 
some  ptarmigan,  but  our  flying  shot  went  wide.  The 
sharpness  of  these  young  Eskimo  in  finding  and  seeing 
game  of  all  sorts  is  remarkable.  I  have  often  thought 
they  were  quicker  sighted  than  even  the  Indians. 
They  are  more  highly  energized,  and  they  seem  as 
absolutely  fitted  to  the  coast  life  as  the  seals  themselves. 
The  Indian  is  a  little  too  far  north  here,  being  at  his 
northern  limit  and  probably  beyond  his  natural  latitudes. 
The   extraordinary   diversity   of   Indian   and   Eskimo 


136  Labrador 

both  in  genius  and  physical  habit  indicates  a  good  deal 
of  separation  during  their  elder  race  history. 

The  young  eiders  and  sea  pigeons  were  flying  well 
by  this  date,  and  we  shot  quite  a  few  as  they  flew  by. 
It  seemed  as  if  no  ducks  were  ever  better  than  these 
eiders  when  they  came  out  of  the  kettle  next  morning. 

The  boy  did  visible  thinking  toward  night,  as  we 
approached  the  Voisey's  Bay  waters.  A  deepish  bay 
to  the  right  bothered  him  in  the  twilight,  and  we  spent 
a  little  time  looking  it  over,  finally  camping  just  in- 
side it  on  good  moss.  We  were  on  Kikertavak,  "  Big 
Island,"  and  some  twenty  miles  from  Nain.  On  the 
sea  chart  is  shown  a  through  passage  west  of  this 
island,  but  according  to  the  bay  people  it  has  no  exis- 
tence. Six  miles  south  of  Nain  the  inside  passage,  the 
one  we  were  in,  takes  a  turn  west  for  a  mile  or  more, 
then  turns  sharply  to  the  southeast  around  a  notice- 
able crested  mountain,  visible  from  far  about. 

The  morning  of  the  28th,  as  we  were  at  the  eiders, 
the  boy  came  in  from  one  of  his  little  disappearances, 
whispering  excitedly,  "  Deers !  "  Following  him  some 
way  we  came  to  a  caribou,  which  Walcott  shot  handily. 
It  was  our  first  large  meat,  and  a  good  omen  for  the 
future.  In  no  time  to  speak  of  the  boy  skinned  the 
animal  and  cut  it  up. 

We  were  at  John  Voisey's  at  midday.  His  wife, 
one  of  the  Lanes,  had  formerly  worked  at  Spracklin's. 
John  told  of  seeing  me  go  by  last  year,  and  of  painting 
his  gable  red.  He  wanted  no  more  such  slips.  He 
had  been  up  Assiwaban  in  winter,  but  turned  out  to 
be  a  good  deal  wrong  as  regards  Indian  camping  places 
and  their  movements  —  the  old  story  with  the  shore 
people.     He  went  along  with  us  in  a  flat  to  the  fall, 


1904  137 

over  six  miles  on  the  bay  and  four  or  five  by  river,  to 
help  portage.  The  rocks  along  the  river  were  slaty  and 
on  edge,  cutting  our  moccasined  feet;  we  had  a  time 
getting  the  heavy  canoe  along  to  a  place  where  we  could 
turn  up  the  bank.  It  was  a  heavy  matter  to  do  with 
the  boat  on  any  terms  in  bad  ground,  and  not  much 
easier  for  three  of  us  at  once  than  for  one  alone  to 
carry  it.  John  was  nearly  all  in  by  the  time  we  had 
made  the  portage,  some  three  quarters  of  a  mile,  though 
it  was  on  level  ground  once  we  were  up  the  hundred- 
foot  bank.  It  was  very  hot  on  the  sunny  river  bank 
at  the  far  end,  perhaps  ninety  degrees.  The  shore 
people  simply  wilt  at  such  times,  strong  as  many  of 
them  are;  they  are  not  hot-weather  people.  John  was 
easily  glad  to  start  back  for  his  cool  sea  place,  where 
he  could  get  away  from  the  flies  as  well  as  the  heat. 
We  were  ready  to  camp  ourselves,  and  did  so  a  mile 
up  the  river,  at  a  bend  where  the  Indian  trail  to  Opetik 
was  plainly  marked  on  the  trees.  Here  the  stream, 
five  or  six  hundred  feet  wide,  is  easy,  winding  in  three 
or  four  long  swings  through  a  timbered  sand  plain 
with  hills  a  mile  away  on  each  side.  Some  of  the  river 
banks  are  high  and  of  sliding  sand,  the  lower  ones 
clothed  with  moss  and  alders,  besides  some  black 
spruces,  but  what  there  are  of  these  last,  and  they  are 
rather  scattering,  grow  mostly  over  the  river  plain. 
One  can  pass  about  freely  almost  anywhere,  save  for 
the  damp  alder  places ;  much  of  the  level  ground  is  well 
carpeted  with  caribou  moss,  the  white  cladonia. 

There  are  some  few  trout  in  all  eddies  below  gravel 
points,  but  they  are  not  always  abundant,  however, 
for  some  miles.  Trout  are  the  common  fish  of  the 
river,  often  visible  sculling  along  in  the  gravel  shallows 


138  Labrador 

singly  or  in  pairs,  only  a  foot  or  two  from  shore,  turn- 
ing in  now  and  then  and  rubbing  noses  against  the  dry 
land,  hunting  the  water  line  like  deliberate  spaniels. 
We  saw  rather  few  in  the  first  ten  miles.  At  five  or 
six  miles  from  the  falls  the  sand  plain  ends  and  a 
strong  water-worn  ledge  on  the  north  side  marks  the 
entrance  to  the  real  river  valley.  This,  for  seventy 
miles,  would  be  called  a  canon  in  the  West.  The 
steep  sides  drop  six  hundred  to  eight  hundred  feet 
almost  into  the  river  for  twenty-five  miles  above  the 
falls,  and  from  there  the  headlands  are  more  or  less 
sheer  to  a  height  of  ten  or  twelve  hundred  feet.  All 
the  side  streams  save  at  the  main  forks  discharge  in 
ribbon  falls,  most  of  them  emerging  from  very  perfect 
examples  of  hanging  valleys,  and  their  white  ribbons 
sometimes  begin  to  show  nearly  a  thousand  feet  above 
the  river.  These  brooks  do  not  amount  to  much  in 
dry  times,  but  in  the  great  melting  period  of  spring 
the  valley  walls  of  the  upper  river  must  be  a  lively 
sight,  and  the  rush  and  roar  tremendous.  Even  in 
summer,  after  long  rainy  periods,  it  is  not  too  pleasant 
to  be  camped  near  some  of  the  high  brooks.  Gusts  of 
wind  bring  the  sound  from  some  high-up  overfall  in 
a  startling  way,  carrying  it  off  again  in  a  few  seconds 
almost  to  stillness.  The  sound  is  rasping  in  the  pent- 
in  river  valley. 

At  the  narrow  falls  near  tide-water  the  river  chokes 
back  in  very  high  water,  and  must  be  placid  and  lake- 
like there  for  a  good  many  miles  up.  That  year  we 
left  a  caribou  carcass  on  the  upper  beach  at  our  first 
camp  above  the  falls,  and  a  year  or  two  later  I  found 
the  weathered  skeleton  unmoved,  though  it  was  on  a 


1904  139 

point  and  especially  exposed  to  whatever  current  was 
running. 

On  the  afternoon  of  our  first  day's  travel  above  the 
falls  the  swift  gravel  bars  were  almost  too  much  for  us 
to  get  over,  save  by  wading  with  a  tracking  line.  By 
camping  time  our  lumbering  boat  had  been  spitefully 
christened  "  The  Raft,"  and  still  bears  the  name  in 
reminiscence.  She  has  never  been  taken  above  the 
falls  since  that  trip. 

We  camped  at  a  slight  point  where  spring  ice  had 
shoved  up  the  river  gravel.  The  river  was  swift  here, 
and  we  looked  for  trout  in  the  eddy  below  the  point 
along  the  bank,  where  the  water  was  still  and  had  a  little 
depth.  While  I  was  getting  things  going  at  the  camp 
two  or  three  rods  back  from  the  edge  of  the  bank  on 
a  luxurious  white  moss  level,  Walcott  took  his  grilse 
rod  to  the  point  for  fish.  After  a  while  I  looked  out, 
but  not  much  seemed  to  be  doing,  though  W.  looked  all 
intent.  It  developed  that  there  were  "  some  heavy 
things  in  there  "  ;  he  had  lost  some  tackle  on  them.  His 
gut  was  no  doubt  old  and  brittle,  for  grilse  tackle  will 
land  almost  anything  if  sound.  The  sun  had  been  hot 
and  the  fish  taking  lightly.  Shortly  they  showed  a 
better  spirit  and  the  few  necessary  fish  came  in,  the  best 
toward  three  pounds'  weight. 

As  darkness  came  on  we  were  sitting  by  the  fire 
when  a  heavy  splash  came  from  under  the  bank,  and 
others  followed.  We  listened,  a  little  startled,  then 
knew  that  it  must  be  trout.  All  along  the  eddy  they 
sounded,  for  a  hundred  yards.  As  my  diary  has  it, 
"  It  sounded  at  times  like  a  dozen  muskrats  on  a  ram- 
page, and  was  really  startling  in  the  still  evening." 


140  Labrador 

Such  an  appeal  to  one's  fishing  instincts  I  had  never 
met  before. 

"  We  went  down  and  fished  awhile,  and  though  it 
was  rarely  possible  to  see  the  flies  on  the  water  for  the 
darkness,  the  large  fish  found  them  well  enough  and 
came  in  fast.  Three  or  four  would  jump  at  the  fly  at 
once,  and  must  have  knocked  each  other  about  con- 
siderably. They  were  frantic.  We  could  not  use 
many,  and  as  the  mosquitoes  were  raging  we  retreated 
soon  to  our  smoke  at  the  tent.  The  splashing  con- 
tinued long  and  began  again  before  daylight." 

The  "  heavy  things  "  that  had  done  damage  to  W. 
were,  I  think,  namaycush,  the  great  lake  trout  of  the 
North,  which  may  be  of  almost  any  size  and  in  quick 
water  is  a  hard  puller.  In  deep  water  they  bore  around 
and  around  in  circles  and  down.  Their  habitat  reaches 
at  least  as  far  south  as  a  New  Hampshire  pond  a  few 
miles  from  the  Massachusetts  line.  In  Maine  they  are 
"  togue,"  in  northern  New  Hampshire  "  lunge,"  in 
Quebec,  "  tuladi,"  or  gray  trout;  Indians  know  them 
as  "  kokomesh  "  or  u  namaycush." 

Caribou  had  walked  many  of  the  beaches,  and  wolves, 
though  the  number  of  individual  animals  concerned  was 
small.  An  occasional  fox  also  had  run  the  shores,  and 
a  smallish  bear  or  two. 

A  mile  or  so  above  our  trout  camp  is  the  Natua- 
ashish,  "  Little  River-lake  "of  the  Indians.  It  is  less 
than  a  mile  wide  at  the  widest,  and  perhaps  four  long, 
with  steep  hills  to  the  south.  As  no  noticeable  drain- 
age comes  in  on  that  side,  what  water  there  is  may  go 
to  Side  brook.  Invariably,  about  the  outlet,  from  one 
to  four  lesser  sheldrakes  start  up,  always  rather  wild. 

We  had  learned  to  pole  together  by  the  second  day, 


1904  141 

and  could  get  ahead  well  in  the  swift  places.  Above 
the  little  lake,  however,  an  east  wind  came  up  river 
behind  and  a  cloth  of  forty-five  square  feet  took  us 
along  well.  After  six  or  eight  miles  again  came  a 
widening,  with  portentous  dark  cliffs  which  continued 
for  some  miles.  The  lake  did  not  look  as  long  as  it 
really  was,  and  though  a  sea  was  rising  we  kept  on. 
Water  began  to  come  in,  and  there  was  no  good  place 
to  land  on  the  south  side  where  we  were.  Still  a  good 
deal  of  the  shore  was  only  rock  debris  from  the  cliffs 
above  and  could  be  climbed,  and  we  kept  pretty  close 
in.  The  pace  soon  became  very  fast,  we  thought  twelve 
or  fourteen  miles  an  hour.  It  was  a  wonder  that  every- 
thing held,  but  the  speed  relieved  the  strain  a  little.  A 
smooth  canoe  eighteen  or  twenty  feet  long  can  make 
a  wonderful  pace  before  the  wind,  and  if  fairly  flat 
and  balanced  a  little  high  in  the  bow  will  tend  to  slide 
itself  up  over  the  waves.  For  my  part  I  was  very 
dubious  along  by  the  cliff  headlands ;  they  did  not  look 
very  high  while  ahead,  nor  far,  but  they  were,  and  it 
seemed  as  if  we  could  never  reach  and  get  by  them.  W. 
seemed  steady ;  he  was  used  to  racing  boats,  and  I  relied 
on  his  showing  some  sign  if  things  looked  half  as 
doubtful  to  him  as  they  did  to  me.  A  year  or  two 
afterward  he  talked  about  it.  He  had  been  about  as 
uncomfortable  as  I,  but  knew  that  I  had  seen  a  good 
deal  of  open  canoes,  and  I  looked  easy.  We  finally 
cleared  the  narrows  and  the  wind  had  a  chance  to 
spread.  It  was  still  a  lively  lake  sea,  but  we  reached 
a  sand  beach  without  swamping. 

Knowing  the  place  better,  as  the  worst  wind  lake 
anywhere,  I  would  not  think  of  going  into  it  again 
under  such  circumstances,  though  a  west  or  northwest 


142  Labrador 

wind  is  probably  more  to  be  regarded  there  than  one 
from  east  such  as  we  had.  The  hills  are  shaped  so  as 
to  collect  wind  from  either  way.  Long,  plough-shaped 
slopes  swing  around  to  the  southwest  side  and  concen- 
trate everything  from  west  to  north  against  the  high 
rock  faces  of  the  narrows,  and  from  these  remarkable 
bolts  of  wind  sometimes  shoot  downwards,  striking 
irresistibly.  When  we  came  back  through  the  lake  we 
saw  where  a  great  ball  of  wind  had  come  down  on  a 
timbered  shelf  on  the  north  side  of  the  narrows,  knock- 
ing everything  flat,  then  bounding  over  some  standing 
trees  to  a  lower  shelf  and  apparently  rolling  down  into 
the  lake.  It  left  the  stripped  white  tree  stems  combed 
flat  like  grass  to  the  water  side.  This  may  well  have 
happened  while  we  were  passing,  as  we  were  too  pre- 
occupied on  the  other  side  of  the  narrows  to  observe 
it,  and  we  remembered  no  recent  wind  as  strong  as  the 
one  that  day.  Two  or  three  canoes  of  Indians  were 
struck  by  a  gust  some  years  ago  and  all  were  drowned. 
Their  people  who  travel  there  now  naturally  show  a 
good  deal  of  consciousness  about  the  place.  They  know 
it  as  Natua-ashu,  a  name  which  is  generic  for  a  river- 
lake  or  expansion. 

We  sounded  the  lake  just  above  the  narrows  when 
going  down  river,  finding  it  two  hundred  and  seventy- 
five  feet  deep  at  about  two  hundred  and  fifty  yards 
from  shore.  What  depths  would  be  found  further  out 
is  hard  to  say.  I  have  always  meant  to  take  time  there 
and  find  out,  but  the  impulse  to  get  through  the  place 
and  be  done  with  it  has  been  too  strong. 

The  ice  must  become  very  thick  here,  swept  of  snow 
as  it  is  by  the  gales,  and  it  doubtless  stands  immovable 
against  the   first  spring  breakup.     Then,   apparently, 


1904  143 

the  lake  backs  up  for  two  or  three  miles.  Upon  the 
first  wide  levels  sand  and  driftwood  are  deposited, 
higher  up  the  gravel,  this  getting  coarser  and  coarser  as 
the  channel  narrows.  For  two  or  three  miles  the 
stream  flows  very  swift,  silent,  and  shallow  over  pea 
gravel  which  is  almost  as  unstable  as  quicksand,  and 
curiously  bothersome  to  get  over,  whether*  one  paddle, 
pole,  or  wade. 

To  the  north,  once  past  the  lake,  the  country  breaks 
back  a  little,  with  a  slight  valley  which  for  once  is  not 
quite  a  hanging  valley.  Here,  in  winter,  the  shore 
people  of  one  shade  or  another,  mostly  dark  enough, 
leave  the  river  for  the  high  level  to  hunt  deer.  Some 
say  they  know  the  river  a  little  farther  up,  but  if  they 
do  they  have  shocking  memories  for  natural  features. 
Even  concerning  the  "  Big  Lake,"  the  Natua-ashu,  their 
descriptions  are  often  weak.  There  were  "  Indian  poles 
all  around  it  " —  but  we  saw  not  one.  It  is  the  very 
last  place  to  camp,  save  when  windbound,  or  perhaps 
at  the  extreme  lower  end.  The  shore  people's  stories 
of  it  are  hard  to  account  for.  Sam  Bromfield's  son 
Abraham,  one  of  the  most  presentable  youths  of  the 
shore,  asked  me  if  what  he  had  heard  was  true,  that 
you  could  sail  a  trap  boat  all  the  way  up  into  the  Big 
Lake,  and  when  you  were  there  the  shed  hair  of  the 
seals  was  knee  deep  around  the  shores !  Being  a  seal 
hunter  he  was  much  lighted  by  the  tale.  Yet  the 
seventy-five  foot  fall  is  at  the  very  head  of  tide,  and 
the  bay  people  go  there  often.  Under  this  fantastic 
imagination  as  to  things  inland  is  the  demonology  of 
the  Eskimo,  which  places  all  sorts  of  evil  spirits  there. 

From  the  narrows  to  the  main  forks  is  four  or  five 
miles.     The  Mistastin  comes  in  from  south  at  right 


144  Labrador 

angles,  but  in  two  or  three  miles  recovers  its  course 
from  nearly  west.  The  main  river  valley,  more  and 
more  walled  in,  carries  on  straight  west  for  some  thirty 
miles  more.  The  forks  camping  place,  a  few  hundred 
yards  up  the  Mistastin,  is  my  favorite  of  all  the  region. 
There  were  many  Indian  poles,  mostly  winter  ones. 
An  ample  white  moss  level,  with  sparse  spruce  and 
larch,  extends  south  until  cut  off  by  the  westward  swing 
of  the  Mistastin,  and  over  this  plain  caribou  paths  led 
like  spokes  of  a  wheel  to  our  camping  place  at  the  forks. 
The  few  actual  tracks  were  old.  Successive  fine  ter- 
races extend  nearly  from  river  to  river  a  little  west  of 
the  forks ;  on  the  southwest  the  level  line  of  their  last 
high  escarpment  against  the  sky,  turning  with  a  square 
corner  up  the  Mistastin,  is  singularly  fortification-like 
and  imposing  from  points  on  the  lower  terraces.  The 
dignity  of  the  level  line  in  landscape  is  rarely  more 
evident  than  here.  Back  of  the  terraces  is  a  sharp 
ascent  to  the  rolling  high  level,  here  nearly  a  thousand 
feet  above  the  river. 

That  first  afternoon  we  went  Mistastin  way,  for 
it  had  been  fabled  by  John  Voisey  that  the  Indians 
used  that  stream.  It  turned  out  shallow,  rapid,  and 
unboatable,  running  over  rough  boulder  gravel  for 
many  miles.  From  a  valley  with  ponds  to  the  south 
a  large  rushing  branch  comes  in  and  above  it  the  Mis- 
tastin is  visibly  smaller,  though  even  at  the  forks  it  is 
less  than  the  main  Assiwaban.  But  its  valley  is  one 
of  the  main  features  of  the  country;  at  some  time  a 
great  drainage  has  come  that  way.  From  that  side 
was  laid  down  the  broad  river-plain  and  by  these 
waters  were  cut  the  terraces. 

On  one  of  the  higher  terraces  an  Indian  hunter,  a 


1904-  145 

year  or  two  before,  had  placed  boughs  on  the  snow  to 
sit  upon  while  he  watched  the  wide  river  level  for  deer. 
We  saw  a  few  wolf  signs  about  these  terraces,  and 
some  of  bear,  with  two  broods  of  willow  ptarmigan, 
these  quite  tame. 

The  next  day  we  explored  the  high  level  country 
between  the  rivers,  a  region  of  rolling  barrens  with 
small  lakes.  It  was  really  unexplored  ground.  The 
outward  route  of  the  Indians  traverses  some  of  the 
lakes,  but  we  saw  no  signs  of  it  then.  In  wiry  grass 
by  a  brook  were  some  beautiful  rock  ptarmigan,  run- 
ning fast  with  heads  low,  and  rising  suddenly  with  a 
cackle  for  their  short  flights.  They  were  utterly  in- 
distinguishable when  motionless,  simulating  the  stones, 
which  were  light  colored  with  black  and  gray  lichens. 
In  the  hand  the  birds  seemed  most  conspicuous,  with 
their  large  white  underpatches. 

In  a  place  among  the  hills  that  was  slightly 
sheltered  and  had  a  few  scattering  trees  we  saw  a  half 
dozen  shrikes ;  I  am  not  sure  that  I  have  ever  seen  more 
than  one  at  a  time  before,  anywhere.  They  eat  small 
mice,  and  of  course  birds,  but  the  horned  larks  which 
were  about  would  seem  too  large  for  shrikes  to  man- 
age, though  in  numbers  they  could  do  so.  But  the  mice 
everywhere  about  that  year  were  more  than  abundant 
enough  for  all  shrikes.  Indians  give  the  unpleasant 
name  of  Torturer  to  the  shrike,  for  it  plays  with  its  vic- 
tims like  a  cat,  picking  them  gradually  away.  To  the 
eye  the  bird  offers  no  suggestion  of  being  predatory, 
much  less  of  being  revoltingly  cruel.  Most  predatory 
creatures,  however  beautiful,  suggest  the  destroyer  in 
some  way,  by  their  claws  or  beaks  or  teeth  at  least,  but 
the  slight  down-nib  of  the  shrike  is  scarcely  noticeable, 


146  Labrador 

while  his  gray  and  dark  effect  suggests  the  peaceful  and 
Quakerish.  In  company  with  a  mocking  bird  and  a 
cuckoo,  he  would  look  to  be  a  creature  of  about  the 
same  ways.  It  hurts  to  find  so  amiable  looking  a 
creature  of  this  aspect  with  such  bad  instincts  toward 
its  own  nearest  kind.  Whether  or  not  murderers  are 
usually  labelled  as  such  by  Nature,  we  always  expect 
them  to  be. 

In  the  afternoon  a  wolverene  came  loping,  wood- 
chuck  like,  across  the  way,  at  eighty  yards.  W.  sat 
down  on  the  sloping  ground  for  a  steady  shot  and  I 
whistled  sharply.  The  animal  faced  and  stopped.  A 
handsome  shot  W.  made,  just  under  the  chin  and  from 
end  to  end.  It  was  a  strong-looking  brute.  An 
autopsy  proved  it  full  of  mice.  We  skinned  it  and 
took  the  broad  skull.  I  chiefly  had  officiated,  and  an 
astonishing  musty  smell  remained  on  my  hands.  To 
live  it  down  might  take  weeks,  I  thought,  but  in  a  day 
or  two  it  faded  away. 

We  were  pleased  over  our  wolverene  episode,  for 
one  might  be  a  long  time  in  the  country  without  seeing 
one,  especially  in  summer,  and  it  is  an  interesting 
species.  This  one  may  have  weighed  forty  or  fifty 
pounds.  No  creature  is  so  hated  in  the  north,  for  none 
is  so  cunning  and  destructive,  none  so  hard  to 
destroy.  Its  practice  of  carrying  off  and  hiding  what 
it  cannot  eat  gives  the  impression  of  actual  malice, 
especially  as  it  burglarizes  not  only  eatables,  but  all 
sorts  of  equipment,  even  to  the  camp  kettle.  Once 
snow  has  leveled  over  its  tracks  its  hidings  are  safe. 
Caches  have  to  be  placed  high  for  any  security,  with 
an  over-hanging  platform.  Many  an  Indian,  and  even 
many  a  family,  has  perished  by  the  agency  of  this  evil 


w 


1904  147 

genius  of  the  north.  "  We  know  he  is  possessed  of 
an  evil  spirit,"  Indians  say,  "  because  he  has  been  the 
death  of  so  many  persons."  Steel  traps  he  understands, 
and  is  rarely  caught,  but  pulls  out  the  back  of  the  pen 
and  gets  the  bait  without  penalty.  He  may  follow  a 
line  of  traps  for  forty  miles,  taking  every  bait  and 
whatever  game  has  been  caught.  Sometimes  he  is  out- 
done by  the  "  double  set  " —  one  trap  set  as  usual,  for 
him  to  avoid,  another  concealed  with  all  art  in  an  un- 
usual position.  Stories  of  the  occasional  circumvention 
of  the  pest  are  cherished  among  the  hunters. 

When  the  Indians  do  catch  one  they  sometimes  tor- 
ture him  in  mere  exasperation,  as  well  as  to  deter  the 
other  wolverenes  from  pursuing  their  evil  ways,  for 
by  agencies  we  do  not  recognize  they  will  know  the 
victim's  fate. 

The  beast  inspires  vindictiveness  in  most  amiable 
persons.  While  McKenzie  was  at  Chimo  he  had  some 
traps  out  and  was  troubled  by  a  wolverene  family. 
Although  he  managed  to  catch  the  young  ones,  the 
old  mother  was  too  clever  for  him,  and  he  finally  re- 
sorted to  a  spring  gun  with  a  bait,  and  four  steel  traps 
set  about.  When  the  beast  pulled  on  the  bait  the  gun 
only  snapped  without  going  off,  but,  startled,  the  animal 
jumped  and  landed  in  one  of  the  traps,  and  by  the 
time  Peter  came  along  she  had  picked  up  two  or  three 
more. 

Peter  related  that  he  sat  down  and  looked  at  her 
awhile,  then  took  a  stick  and  beat  her  well,  and  so  on 
for  some  time  before  he  killed  her.  As  Peter  had  a 
singularly  amiable  temperament  the  incident  may  be 
taken  as  showing  that  few  dispositions  can  bear  the 
wolverene  test. 


148  Labrador 

The  carrying  off  of  things  that  are  of  no  use  to  the 
creature  concerned  seems  to  go  with  an  unusual  degree 
of  intelligence,  as  in  the  crow  kind,  the  jays,  and  the 
well-known  mountain  rat  of  the  West.  This  last 
creature,  not  really  a  rat  at  all,  by  the  way,  stops  at 
nothing.  A  tent  with  a  floor  is  his  natural  abiding 
place.  Shoes,  hairbrushes,  all  toilet  things  that  are 
within  his  strength  disappear  under  the  floor  of  nights. 
In  Idaho,  long  ago,  one  of  them  stripped  us  without 
compunction,  until  at  last  we  pulled  up  a  floor  board 
and  watched  as  we  could.  As  we  were  sitting  silently 
one  day,  the  rat's  furry  tail  was  seen  to  move  in  the  end 
of  a  joint  of  stovepipe.  We  clapped  pieces  of  board 
over  the  ends  of  the  pipe  and  carried  it  some  distance 
away  before  letting  the  rat  out.  Intelligent,  he  took  the 
hint  and  never  came  back. 

From  the  higher  hills  that  day  we  observed  widely. 
The  Mistastin  valley  appeared  to  ascend  rather  rapidly 
southwest.  North,  across  the  Assiwaban,  where  the 
view  was  far,  the  country  had  almost  no  trees,  was 
smoother  and  more  barren,  the  surface  less  covered  in. 
Our  last  view  north  and  west  was  from  a  great  head- 
land of  the  Assiwaban,  some  ten  miles  above  the  forks. 
This  promontory  is  mostly  sheer,  and  thirteen  or 
fourteen  hundred  feet  high.  A  golden  eagle  hung 
over  the  river,  a  little  below  our  level,  the  sun  touch- 
ing well  his  bronze  back.  He  was  in  keeping  with  the 
cliffs  and  depths  below,  and  the  wide,  barren,  but  in- 
spiring wilderness  that  stretched  away  at  our  level. 
I  have  seen  a  few  eagles  in  the  country,  and  none  but 
of  this  species. 

Save  for  the  Mistastin  not  one  side  stream,  in  all 
probability,  comes  into  the  river  at  the  valley  level, 


1904  149 

from  tide  water  to  the  plunging  falls  by  which  the 
stream  descends  from  the  plateau.  On  the  north  side 
there  are  no  branches  at  all  save  for  inconsiderable 
umbling  brooks,  and  the  length  of  river  I  have  observed 
must  be  as  much  as  sixty  miles  in  a  straight  line.  The 
north  side  of  the  river  valley  is  almost  a  wall,  sloping 
or  sheer,  from  end  to  end.  There  is  nothing  like  a 
notch  for  fifty  miles,  and  then  only  a  V-shaped  ravine, 
with  a  trifling  brook,  and  rising  sharply  to  the  plateau 
level. 

It  is  much  the  same  with  Labrador  valleys  all  the 
way  southward  around  to  the  Saguenay,  which  is  the 
great  type  of  the  gulf  and  east  coast  rivers.  Not  one 
that  I  know  of,  save  the  Assiwaban,  but  has  more  than 
one  deep  side  valley  in  its  entire  length. 

Scattered  over  the  country  as  they  were  let  down 
by  the  ice  are  unnumbered  erratic  boulders.  They  are 
conspicuous  on  many  of  the  ridges  at  a  great  distance. 
A  curious  kind  of  boulder  occurs  here  and  there  which 
weathers  down  into  light-brown  rhomboid  fragments 
the  size  of  stove  coal;  they  must  have  come  from  some- 
where west  and  north. 

Until  we  turned  back  for  camp  there  had  been  some 
breeze  in  our  faces,  and  no  trouble  from  mosquitoes. 
Now  they  accumulated  rapidly  and  were  as  bad  as  I 
have  ever  seen  them  even  on  these  white  moss  barrens. 
They  covered  W.'s  long  back  in  a  solid  brown  mass. 
He  would  ask  me  to  scrape  them  off,  but  I  could  not 
make  up  my  mind  to  do  it  with  my  hand,  and  always 
got  a  branch  to  clear  the  repulsive  swarm  off  with.  I 
did  not  have  as  many  as  W.,  my  coat  being  smooth; 
they  like  fuzzy  cloth  and  light-colored  surfaces.  The 
last  four  or  five  miles  into  camp  we  were  hard  pushed, 


150  Labrador 

came  in  running,  and  were  punished  well  while  trying 
to  start  a  fire. 

There  were  a  good  many  showers  that  trip,  in  fact 
sun-showers  are  the  summer  feature  away  from  the 
coast,  and  often  it  took  a  little  time  to  start  a  fire;  at 
least,  one  of  us  had  to  hold  the  match  until  it  was  almost 
wholly  burned.  While  the  match  was  burning  we 
could  not  brush  mosquitoes  without  agitating  the  air 
and  putting  it  out,  and  the  enemy  would  settle  down 
fast  on  our  hands.  Meanwhile  the  operator  was  de- 
fenseless. We  agreed  afterward  that  the  most  trying 
experience  of  the  summer  was  having  to  hold  the  match 
until  it  burned  out. 

The  high  barrens  are  fully  as  bad  as  any  other  place, 
little  as  they  look  it,  and  there  mosquitoes  are  largest. 
In  bushy  places  and  sometimes  close  to  water  black 
flies  are  troublesome,  but  they  go  to  sleep  at  night  and 
one  can  get  along  with  them,  while  the  mosquitoes  keep 
on.  They  try  one's  nerves.  Low  tells  of  one  of  his 
young  men  who  was  taking  a  round  of  angles  some- 
where in  this  country;  he  persevered  for  a  time,  though 
hard  pressed,  but  finally  dropped  his  hands  and  burst 
into  tears  —  they  were  too  much. 

If  Walcott  had  known  how  he  looked  the  first  three 
days  on  the  river  he  would  have  needed  good  courage 
to  keep  on.  He  was  swelled  up  nearly  to  blindness; 
his  nearest  friend  would  hardly  have  known  him.  By 
the  third  day  the  swelling  goes  down  and  does  not 
again  appear,  for  that  season  at  least.  This  1904  trip 
was  the  worst  for  heat  and  flies  of  any  I  have  had  in 
the  northeast. 

It  is  a  blessed  thing  that  mosquito  torture  vanishes 
easily  from  the  mind  when  the  actual  infliction  is  over. 


1904  151 

So  it  was  that  evening  at  the  forks ;  once  in  the  smoke, 
and  equilibrium  restored,  we  thought  only  of  the  inter- 
esting day.  Neither  of  us  had  ever  been  in  really  un- 
explored ground  before,  and  that  day  we  had  probably 
overlooked  a  thousand  square  miles  of  which  it  was 
impossible  to  get  any  description  at  the  shore.  It 
was  not  only  fresh  ground,  but  inspiring  to  look  upon 
and  walk  over.  A  country  more  inviting  to  the  feet 
would  be  hard  to  find,  one  never  knows  when  to  stop. 

Here  the  variation  of  the  compass  was  about  forty- 
one  degrees.  The  place  was  about  forty-six  miles 
from  the  mouth  of  Assiwaban  as  we  had  come.  The 
trout  here  evidently  belonged  to  Mistastin  waters,  bril- 
liant fish,  not  rangy  like  those  of  the  main  stream,  and 
their  quality  was  equal  to  their  looks. 

At  4.30  in  the  morning  we  were  awakened  by  the 
sound  of  a  paddle  working  against  a  gunwale  down 
toward  the  main  stream..  Looking  out  of  the  tent,  a 
canoe  with  two  Indians  was  turning  up  from  the  main 
stream  to  our  place.  When  they  saw  us  the  sound  of 
the  paddles  quieted;  it  had  been  their  door  bell,  for 
wilderness  people  do  not  approach  one's  house  unnan- 
nounced.  A  white  man  might  have  shouted,  but  these 
people  avoid  calling  out  and  all  other  sounds  that  startle. 
They  were  a  man  and  boy  in  an  empty  -canoe,  without 
arms.  I  knew  them  both  from  the  year  before,  and 
was  able  to  give  them  photos  of  themselves.  There 
were  seven  more  of  them,  they  said,  just  below.  They 
accepted  tea  and  bread,  but  declined  the  bacon.  The 
man  took  up  a  little  -cache  nearby,  and  a  tin  can  which 
we  had  noticed  just  back  of  the  tent  hanging  to  a  tree. 
We  talked  awhile,  and  he  drew  a  map  on  the  sand  show- 
ing the  high  portage  and  some  of  the  country  beyond. 


152  Labrador 

After  half  an  hour  he  asked  for  a  gun  and  cartridge, 
with  which  he  promptly  fired  a  signal  shot,  which  was 
answered  from  below  around  the  bend.  Presently 
more  firing  came,  with  a  peremptory  sound,  and  our 
guests  started  away,  we  putting  in  and  following,  to 
see  the  rest  of  the  party. 

A  noticeable  thing  had  happened  when  I  showed 
them  a  group  picture  taken  at  the  post  the  year  before. 
They  were  interested  and  pleased,  picking  out  the  faces 
easily,  until  they  came  to  one  of  a  man  who  had  died 
during  the  year.  The  effect  was  remarkable,  the  man 
looked  almost  frightened  and  his  voice  sank. 
"  Tshipi,"  he  said,  "  A  spirit."  His  disq-uietude  was 
evident. 

The  people  below  turned  out  to  be  young  men,  in 
charge  of  a  younger  man  I  had  met  before,  who  withal 
was  somewhat  inflated  by  his  temporary  dignity. 
There  seems  to  be  always  a  chief,  some  one  in  authority, 
wherever  Indians  are  found. 

When  they  saw  us  coming  on,  in  the  big  canoe,  they 
laughed  at  something  one  of  them  said  about  us.  I 
doubt  if  it  was  really  our  bad  paddling  or  absurd  way, 
indeed,  of  sitting,  though  it  may  have  been  these.  It 
is  likely,  rather,  that  they  saw  what  guys  we  would  be 
on  the  high  portage  with  such  a  craft,  and  on  the  long 
portages  beyond.  There  is  no  telling,  howeve'r,  what 
may  seem  the  funniest  thing  to  them  when  a  white  man 
is  trying  to  do  Indian  things. 

I  showed  the  group  picture  again,  among  others, 
and  while  they  were  interested  and  picking  out  the  faces 
watched  to  see  if  they  also  took  notice  of  the  one  who 
had  died.  I  should  have  known  it  with  my  back  turned, 
for  the  same  "  Tshipi  "  was  whispered,  the  same  silence 


1904  153 

and  uneasiness  came  over  all,  and  shortly  they  renewed 
their  preparations  to  embark. 

Their  being  shaken  was  not  very  strange.  To  be 
presented  unexpectedly  with  the  speaking  likeness  of  one 
near  and  intimate  who  has  just  died  is  naturally 
affecting  to  any  one;  it  would  be  to  one  of  ourselves. 
Nevertheless  the  extreme  awe  that  was  shown,  result- 
ing in  such  curiously  identical  manifestations  of 
manner  and  words,  seemed  more  than  one  would  ex- 
pect. In  truth,  as  I  came  to  know  in  time,  seeing  the 
picture  was  to  their  minds  perilously  near  to  seeing  the 
departed.  Anything  belonging  to  a  person  who  has 
died  is  in  their  view  of  most  doubtful  omen  to  the  liv- 
ing; even  the  name  is  not  to  be  spoken,  and  if  another 
has  the  same  name  it  is  changed.  A  lapse  in  these 
things  results  in  distress  to  the  departed  spirit,  and  it 
may  be  in  visitations  by  the  tshipi  upon  those  behind. 
And  ghosts,  the  world  over,  are  not  welcome  visitors. 

We  soon  parted;  they  expected  to  be  back  in  four 
days.  This  looked  unlikely,  for  they  could  not  pos- 
sibly tell  how  long  the  salt  water  voyage  would  take, 
even,  -though  they  reached  Opetik  .  that  night.  We 
agreed  to  look  for  them,  however. 

It  was  W.'s  first  view  of  Naskapi ;  their  irresponsible 
look  took  him  between  wind  and  water,  particularly 
certain  flannel  shirts,  worn  outside,  for  a  deerskin 
breechcloth  does  not  lend  itself  to  ordinary  dispositions. 
These,  with  their  unconventional  legs,  were  a  bit  un- 
usual. I  explained  that  they  merely  called  the  shirt  a 
sweater,  and  wore  it  outside. 

We  went  back  to  camp  and  took  a  day  off,  mending 
and  knocking  about  near  by  for  a  few  birds  and  fish. 
I  boiled  W.'s  wolverene  skull  and  cleaned  it  partly, 


154  Labrador 

though  not  enough ;  it  raised  a  fearful  smell  in  the  boat 
later.  The  meat  looked  so  good  boiled  that  I  cut  off 
a  bit  and  found  it  perfectly  eatable.  The  Indians  eat 
it  only  when  starving,  and  "  Carcajou-eater  "  is  a  fight- 
ing word  in  some  regions ;  nor  will  they  ordinarily  put 
the  skin  with  others,  but  tie  it  to  the  sled  somewhere 
outside.  Some  will  not  sell  so  hated  and  despised  a 
thing,  though  they  let  the  women  trade  them  if  they 
want  to. 

The  river  above,  to  the  high  portage,  became  swifter 
and  swifter,  often  too  much  so  for  us  to  pole.  W. 
had  a  pair  of  lace  boots,  admirable  for  wading,  and 
with  his  long  legs  would  wade  up  the  swift  stretches 
as  fast  as  I  could  get  along  the  shore  with  a  pole  to 
fend  off,  which  I  did  mainly  to  save  appearances. 
There  is  little  fishing  above  the  forks,  and  what  trout 
we  got  about  the  eddies  near  the  portage  were  not 
much  over  a  pound  weight,  that  I  remember.  The 
portage  matched  the  Indians'  description  well,  and  I 
felt  sure  it  was  the  place,  but  W.,  who  had  not  under- 
stood the  talk,  was  very  doubtful,  as  he  had  every  right 
to  be.  The  place  looked  impassably  steep  and  high. 
Part  of  it  is  a  steady,  virtually  pathless  climb  of  eight 
hundred  feet,  the  whole  height  from  the  river  up  being 
eleven  hundred  feet.  One  really  needs  hands  as  well 
as  feet  a  good  deal  of  the  way.  The.  finding  of  Indians' 
tracks  leaving  the  river  settled  all  questions  of  being 
in  the  right  place,  but  we  soon  lost  what  trail  there 
was  and  went  up  where  the  climb  was  over  twelve 
hundred  feet.  The  Indians  use  the  portage  only  when 
going  down  river.  We-  spent  some  hours  off  west  and 
southwest,  seeing  many  ponds  and  the  smooth,  bold 
ridges  of  the  height  of  land  some  miles  beyond,  but  we 


1904-  155 

did  not  see  the  actual  divide  that  year.  Deer  tracks 
were  few.  There  were  some  few  ptarmigan  about, 
fairly  grown;  we  lunched  off  some  of  them  beside  one 
of  the  ponds. 

We  discussed  a  walking  trip.  While  it  seemed  fea- 
sible to  get  the  canoe  up  the  hill  in  the  course  of  a  day 
or  two,  it  was  beyond  us  to  get  it  on  over  the  long 
portages  westward.  If  the  next  day,  August  6th,  had 
been  decently  cool  and  the  flies  had  not  been  unusually 
fierce,  I  think  we  should  have  made  a  few  days'  walk, 
though  we  were  rather  limited  as  to  possibilities. 
Without  a  canoe  we  could  not  do  much  with  the  lakes, 
and  we  had  in  mind  no  special  objective;  on  the  other 
hand,  we  could  easily  catch  the  next  steamer  back,  and 
this  was  some  object  to  us  both  that  year.  Finally 
we  turned  back  down  river  again,  after  a  swim  and  a 
time  of  drying  damp  outfit.  There  had  been  many 
showers,  and  our  things  had  become  uncompanionable. 

It  was  remarkable  how  long  the  distance  seemed 
down  the  swift  water  to  the  forks,  and  the  rough  places 
looked  worse  than  coming  up.  Judging  by  both  time 
and  distance  we  thought  it  must  be  twenty  miles. 
But  going  down  a  current  one  follows  around  the  very 
widest  swings  of  such  a  river  as  k  goes  from  side  to 
side  of  the  valley.  We  may  actually  have  gone  twenty 
miles,  but  a  fair  estimate  down  the  middle  of  the 
reaches  might  be  nearer  fifteen. 

We  had  a  little  dread  as  the  wind  lake  came  on,  lest 
it  turn  another  gale  upon  us,  but  it  stayed  perfectly 
calm.  We  held  on  until  eleven  to  get  through,  drop- 
ping down  to  sleep  on  a  flat  sand  bar  without  a  tent, 
flies  or  no  flies.  On  the  7th,  next  day,  the  two  great 
pools  in  the  trout  reach  were  full  of  twenty-inch  fish, 


156  Labrador 

nibbling  quietly  at  the  myriad  black  flies  which  lay  in 
wavy  lines  and  patches  on  the  water.  The  ripples  of 
these  fish  looked  like  those  of  five  or  six  inch  chubs, 
taking  flies  carefully  without  showing  themselves. 
But  every  one  of  those  little  ripples  stood  for  near  three 
pounds  of  fish,  certainly  two  and  a  half.  A  very 
large  one  struck  my  fly  and  bored  heavily  down,  pres- 
ently getting  away  with  the  hook  and  snell  through  a 
careless  knot.  In  a  moment  there  was  a  heavy  splash 
and  the  fish  ran  on  his  side  for  the  shore,  shaking  his 
head  to  get  rid  of  the  fly.  He  was  nearly  all  out  of 
water  for  twTo  or  three  hundred  feet  and  looked  at 
least  six  pounds.  Reaching  the  shore  he  nearly 
grounded  for  good,  but  got  off.  He  was  doubtless  a 
namaycush,  though  there  is  no  reason  why  the  fontinalis 
should  not  grow  to  almost  any  size  there.  This  pool 
is  nearly  half  a  mile  long  and  a  thousand  feet  wid'e,  a 
great  feeding-ground  in  summer.  The  deep  wind  lake 
above  must  make  an  unusually  good  wintering  place 
for  all  fish,  especially  during  the  hibernation  periods 
some  of  them  indulge  in.  There  are  whiteflsh  in  the 
river,  and  in  19 10,  I  was  interested  at  finding  on  the 
shore  a  ling,  or  fresh  water  cod,  of  sixteen  inches. 
As  to  the  size  of  trout,  I  have  weighed  sea  trout  up  to 
eleven  pounds  at  the  shore,  and  have  seen  one  or  two 
after  they  were  split  that  were  surely  up  to  fourteen. 
The  bay  people  speak  of  very  large  fontinalis,  fresh- 
water trout,  in  certain  streams  near  the  Assiwaban, 
and  doubtless  reliably,  for  these  salt-water  fishermen 
are  not  excitable  about  fish  weights. 

A  few  miles  above  the  falls  W.  saw  a  caribou  stag 
on  the  shore  and  handsomely  gave  me  the  shot.  It 
took  three  well-placed  30.30s  to  get  him  off  his  feet; 


1904  157 

they  are  often  that  way,  but  the  30.30  is  not  a  smasher. 

On  the  morning  of  the  8th  we  passed  the  Indian 
portage,  leaving  some  forty  pounds  of  flour  for  the 
returning  party,  who  were  not  nearly  on  time;  it  was 
more  than  five  days  since  they  had  left  us,  instead  of 
the  four  they  had  laid  out.  On  the  large  boulders 
below  the*  falls  were  some  twenty  seals,  left  high  by 
the  tide  and  looking  odd  enough  there,  one  capping 
each  rock,  with  head  and  tail  far  overhanging.  One 
by  one  they  slid  off.  We  had  the  deer-meat  and  let 
them  swim  close  without  firing. 

A  little  thing  happened  at  the  mouth  of  the  river 
which  may  have  a  moral.  Edmund  Winters  and  his 
large  family  were  there  fishing  trout  and  sealing.  As 
the  tide  was  in  we  did  not  land,  but  Edmund  followed 
us  along  the  shore  with  obvious  intention,  s'o  we  turned 
in  and  waited.  He  had  a  pair  of  seal  trousers  he 
wanted  to  sell,  with  a  little  wall  pocket  or  two  made 
of  loon  skins,  worth  perhaps  $2  or  $3  altogether. 
We  did  not  want  them,  and  had  nothing  less  than  a  $5 
bill.  After  some  talk  I  ungraciously  took  them  and 
handed  over  the  bill,  telling  him  not  to  think  every 
Yankee  traveler  was  going  to  pay  double  price.  I 
appreciated  the  size  of  his  tremendous  family  a  little. 
Two  years  later  I  came  to  his  place  in  something  of  a 
pickle,  and  he  and  his-  wife  volunteered  a  very  good 
and  unexpected  turn  to  help  me.  A  case  of  bread  upon 
the  waters. 

Voisey  took  us  to  Nain  in  his  long,  keelless  trap  boat. 
She  could  run  and  reach,  but  this  was  beating,  and  in 
a  cold  northeaster  three  or  four  degrees  above  freez- 
ing. We  had  two  shivering  days  of  it.  Once  we 
towed  the  canoe  under,  had  to  let  go,  and  afterward 


158  Labrador 

round  up  a  sea  of  scattered  oars,  paddles,  and  what 
not,  in  a  lively  slop.  Again  I  was  not  sorry  for  having 
held  on  very  long  sometimes  in  the  other  kind  of 
weather  on  this  Jekyl-and-Hyde  coast.  You  get  chilled 
and  circulationless  and  miserable,  the  back  wind  from 
the  sails  penetrates  like  a  forced  draught,  which  it  is. 
Winter  travel  inland,  in  less  clothes,  at  forty  and  fifty 
degrees  below  zero  is  nothing  to  it.  Yet  these  seals  of 
people  who  live  in  the  bays  can  sit  in  a  boat  a  week, 
I  believe,  and  beat  into  the  wind  happily. 

We  slept  in  .the  boat  the  first  night.  Somewhere 
on  Paul's  Island,  where  we  tented  comfortably  the 
second  night,  a  pair  of  the  light-colored  gyr- falcons  of 
the  coast  shrilled  fiercely  in  their  wonderful  flights 
about  the  cliff  above  us.  Their  nest  was  there.  They 
are  not  disguised  wolves  in  sheep's  clothing,  as  are 
the  shrikes.  The  expression  of  every  feather  and  out- 
line, every  note  in  their  cry,  is  unmistakable.  Fierce, 
they  are  beautiful,  admirable.  They  were  numerous 
that  year,  nesting  on  many  cliffs  of  the*  islands,  and 
far  inland. 

We  were-  traveling  by  the  large  passage  next  east 
from  the  one  we  ha.d  gone  south  from  Nain  by,  and 
by  the  middle  of  the  forenoon,  the  ioth,  were  in  sight 
of  Nain  bay  and  could  see  our  uncertain  steamer  if 
she  came  in.  If  we  had  lost  her  we  should  have  been 
black  enough  about  it.  By  noon  we  were  in  Nain, 
and  as  things  were,  with  four  days  to  wait.  The 
Virginia  had  waited  three  extra  days  for  the  races  at 
St.  John's,  and  laid  by  a  day  for  the  northeaster.  We 
might  have  seen  the  height  of  land,  and  at  least  one 
of  its  great  lakes,  and  not  missed  her.  And  the  Indians. 
So  we  know  now. 


ON  THE  HIGH  PORTAGE.     THE  STEEPER  PART  IS  BELOW 


A  GOOD  ROOF 


1904  159 

Of  the  kindness  of  the  mission,  of  the  atmosphere 
of  the  old  consecrated  life  there,  long  established,  the 
old  garden  of  weathered  spruce  and  larch  stretching 
back  under  the  protecting  hill,  its  paths  once  paced  by 
feet  now  passed  to  better  walks, —  these  things  have 
been  told  by  other  pens.     It  was  for  us  a  peaceful  time. 

W.  turned  from  his  vision  of  cat-like,  furtive  land 
savages  to  the  sturdy,  cheerful,  available  Eskimo, 
tamed  and  instructed  • —  with  decision,  and  wandered 
hills  with  Aaron,  a  good  man  who  spoke  English. 

What  I  did  has  faded.  I  doubtless  had  talks  on  the 
wharf  and  lingered  meanwhile  on  memories  of  what 
had  been.  In  time  W.  returned,  and  we  sat  by  the 
real  shrine  of  the  days,  a  large  jar  of  tobacco.  Even 
Aaron,  with  his  Eskimo  smile,  Aaron  the  presentable, 
had  not  endured.  Perhaps  it  was  only  that  the  shoot- 
ing he  took  W.  for  came  out  small,  that  his  fish  did 
not  bite  well.  He  was  really  a  good  man;  still  his 
English -was  too  good,  he  had  once  been  out  in  the  world. 

Then  I  took  him  up,  with  dreams  of  my  own. 
Aaron  knew  the  inland.  He  had  been  far  in  in  winter, 
even  to  "  Ungava  Pond."  It  was  a  long  way  in,  and 
very  large;  you  could  not  see  the  shores  across.  It 
was  a  hundred  miles  wide.  The  Great  Grampus  lived 
there,  who  raised  tremendous  seas  and  hauled  boats 
under. 

Here  was  opportunity.  I  began  a  map,  carried  it 
as  I  could  myself,  then  brought  A.  into  it  and  we  pro- 
ceeded; he  was  definite  enough  and  things  prospered. 
I  was  elated.  We  were  at  it  some  time,  working  on 
rather  remote  territory.  Then  a  creeping  doubt  came. 
Suspicious,  I  led  very  gently  to  ground  I  knew,  and 
about    which    also    he    was    perfectly   clear.     In   five 


160  Labrador 

minutes  it  was  plain  that  he  had  never  been  there  and 
knew  as  good  as  nothing  about  it.     I  sought  the  wharf. 

Ungava  means  the  farther  or  farthest  place.  For 
two  or  three  years  I  was  at  a  loss  to  locate  Ungava 
Pond.  Several  of  the  coast  rivers  along  were  said  to 
lead  there.  "  You  can  go  to  Ungava  Pond  by  that 
river,"  was  said  of  each  one.  In  the  end  I  became 
satisfied  that  coast  people  had  some  report  of  Lake 
Michikamau,  the  source  of  Northwest  river,  and  used 
it  as  a  basis  for  their  relations.  That  any  Eskimo 
has  ever  been  there  is  most  difficult  to  believe. 

On  this  coast  "  pond  "  and  "  brook  "  are  names  for 
largest  inland  waters ;  "  lake  "  and  "  river  "  are  terms 
for  the  smaller  ones.  Rapids  are  "  rattles " ;  the 
reaches  between  are  "  steadies  " ;  falls  are  "  overfalls." 

On  the  way  home  we  were  off  a  day  at  Tilt  Cove, 
with  its  great  copper  mine,  where  Mr.  Williams,  the 
manager,  overwhelmed  us  with  good  things.  Cigars 
such  as  we  had  almost  forgotten  were  opened,  and 
other  things,  with  unwonted  sounds  as  of  popping. 
On  the  Clyde,  to  Lewisport,  were  Mr.  Berteau  and  Mr. 
White,  of  St.  John's.  One  is  never  very  far  from 
home  connections,  for  the  former  proved  to  be  a  far 
cousin;  his  grandmother  was  a  Cabot  in  our  island  of 
Jersey.  Altogether,  save  for  the  flies  and  the  im- 
movable canoe,  yclept  Raft,  the  world  did  us  well 
that  year. 


CHAPTER  VII 
1905 

August  of  1905  found  two  hard-working  travelers 
again  inching  their  way  up  the  high  portage  of  the 
Assiwaban.  The  place  is  without  doubt  one  of  the 
harder  places  of  Canada  to  deal  with  when  one  is 
under  a  pack.  For  myself  the  last  pull  to  the  top 
came  near  being  too  much.  I  half  gave  up,  crawled 
around  the  slope  until  I  found  water,  then,  revived, 
finished  out.  It  was  a  warm,  breathless  day.  My 
companion,  Lewis  Quackenbush,  of  New  York,  a 
young,  strong  man  of  a  good  deal  of  southern-slope 
experience,  did  better  than  I.  We  took  up  only  one 
load  a  day.  The  canoe,  a  good  birch  of  fairly  por- 
table weight,  we  got  off  rather  easily  with,  passing  it 
from  one  to  the  other  and  each  going  light  between 
turns.  In  going  down  the  place  on  the  return  journey, 
one  of  us  fell  while  crossing  a  rock-slide  and  dropped 
the  canoe,  but  it  was  not  hurt  to  speak  of. 

The  outfit  was  all  up  the  5th  of  August,  and  we 
camped  a  mile  on  at  the  second  pond.  Trout  of  six 
or  eight  inches  took  the  fly  well;  deep  little  fish  of 
electric  quickness,  very  dark  on  the  back  and  very 
yellow  beneath,  like  those  of  the  Newfoundland  ponds. 
They  may  belong  to  a  subspecies,  which  may  include 
also  the  bright  Mistastin  trout.  I  regret  not  saving 
specimens. 

161 


162  Labrador 

One  expects  the  fish  of  such  far  waters  that  have 
never  known  the  hook  to  be  wholly  without  caution, 
but  even  these  small  fish,  eager  enough  at  first,  became 
noticeably  wary  of  the  fly  by  the  time  a  meal  or  two 
of  them  had  been  caught.  So  it  is  almost  everywhere 
by  daylight,  though  at  dusk  or  even  in  darkness  trout 
seem  to  lose  all  reason.  They  will  take  ordinary  worm 
bait  on  exceptionally  dark  nights  from  Maine  to  La- 
brador. 

Rambling  about  near  a  pond  a  little  south  of  our 
route,  we  came  upon  a  low  set  of  lodge  poles,  such  as 
the  Indians  use  for  their  small  skin  traveling  tents. 
A  spray  of  evergreen  had  been  placed  where  the  poles 
joined  at  the  top.  This  was  their  date  record.  Any 
one  following  could  tell  by  the  fading  of  the  twigs 
very  nearly  when  the  party  had  camped  there. 

These  skin  traveling  tents  are  shaped  like  a  broad 
collar  when  laid  out  flat.  They  will  not  catch  fire, 
being  indeed  about  the  only  kind  of  small  tent  in  which 
one  can  have  an  open  fire  without  calamity.  More- 
over, they  have  the  advantage  of  stretching  into  almost 
any  shape,  and  even  size. 

We  went  on  heavy  loaded  and  very  slowly,  making 
triple  portages  between  the  ponds.  The  canoe  was 
rather  overweight,  even  in  this  my  third  year  of  pre- 
paration for  the  country.  When  dry  it  may  not  have 
weighed  over  seventy-five  pounds,  but  a  birch  takes 
up  water  with  continuous  use,  and  with  the  paddles 
this  one  carried  heavier  than  it  ought  to.  As  to  pro- 
visions, it  is  well  to  have  plenty,  for  they  can  be  dis- 
carded at  any  time  if  game  proves  reliable,  but  the 
full  amount  we  had  did  give  us  hard  work  on  those 
first  wet  portages. 


1905  163 

In  the  spring  I  had  ordered  a  canvas  canoe,  to  be 
especially  light,  though  deep,  from  a  maker  whom  I 
will  not  expose.  The  outcome  was  the  worst-looking 
boxy  affair  I  ever  saw,  weighing  sixty-eight  pounds. 
Probably  half  the  weight  was  in  paint  and  "filler," 
the  latter  virtually  paint  too.  Sixty-eight  pounds  is 
not  so  bad,  but  the  timbering  was  very  light,  and  Q. 
thought  the  whole  fabric  might  dissolve  under  us. 
His  birch,  from  Lake  St.  John,  on  the  Saguenay,  was 
as  good  as  a  birch  could  be,  so  we  cached  my  craft 
above  Assiwaban  Falls  and  kept  along  in  his.  It  is 
fair  to  say  that  Q.  did  most  of  the  canoe  carrying. 
He  was  tall,  strong,  and  weighty,  and  could  carry  in  a 
wind  when  I  could  not.  My  canoe  would  have  taken 
up  little  or  no  water,  and  kept  its  lightness,  especially 
as  it  would  have  kept  dry  inside;  a  birch  will  never 
keep  wholly  dry  on  a  shallow,  stony  route. 

There  had  been  a  good  deal  of  ice  coming  north. 
The  usual  pack  at  Harrigan  was  solid  on  the  land  the 
22d  of  July,  hard,  green  salt-water  ice,  more  or  less 
rafted.  Some  tourist  passengers  wanted  to  go  on  to 
see  Nain,  and  for  two  or  three  hours  the  Virginia 
rammed  the  pack  with  a  will.  She  would  back  up  a 
few  lengths,  head  for  the  weakest  place,  and  fetch 
up  with  a  heavy  boom.  A  wonderful  sealer's  hull  she 
had,  unsparing  of  material,  greenheart  sheathed  and 
doubly  ironed  about  the  sloping  bow.  Like  a  crow- 
bar she  rammed  her  way,  scarcely  quivering  as  she 
fetched  up  short.  No  one  minded  the  bow,  it  could 
take  care  of  itself.  Directed  at  a  weak  place  not  too 
high  above  water  it  would  merely  lift  a  little  and  stop. 
Sometimes  the  edge  of  the  pan  would  sink  or  split  and 
pass  to  the  sides,  but  the  bow  stood  all  and  everything. 


164  Labrador 

The  stern,  the  vulnerable  heel,  was  another  matter. 
There,  and  not  at  the  bow,  were  stationed  the  sharper 
eyes  of  the  boat.  On  each  side  a  man  watched  keenly 
the  clear  depths,  lest  the  ice  that  kept  swinging  into 
the  open  space  astern  should  foul  the  screw  before  it 
could  be  stopped.  Some  of  the  flinty  green  walls  ran 
down  twenty-odd  feet,  perhaps  thirty.  A  moderate 
touch  of  the  screw  to  one  of  the  harder  under  tongues 
and  we  were  helpless.  It  was  all  in  vain,  we  could  see 
Fanny's,  but  never  reached  it.  The  experience  was 
a  touch  of  the  real  Arctic.  The  dank  chill  of  the 
pack  was  penetrating.  .  Near  by  on  the  ice  at  one  place 
was  a  large  shark,  hauled  out  who  knows  where  in  the 
north  by  Eskimo.  Seventy  or  eighty  bergs  stood  in  a 
long  crescent  beginning  near  us  to  the  north  and  sweep- 
ing far  around  toward  the  west,  and  the  black  deso- 
lation of  the  high,  snow-streaked  land  against  the 
evening  sky  completed  the  Arctic  aspect.  It  was  the 
226.  of  July. 

The  enthusiasm  of  the  passengers  to  reach  Nain, 
as  a  sort  of  Farthest  North  possible,  was  not  so  keen 
by  the  time  we  turned  back.  They  had  had  their 
taste  of  the  real  thing,  on  a  safe  scale,  and  were  pretty 
well  satisfied.  As  the  novelty  wore  away,  the  boom 
and  impact  and  throw  of  the  vessel  became  tiresome, 
if  not  suggestive  of  untoward  happenings.  The  pack 
we  had  approached  with  eagerness  had  become  a 
forbidding  world  of  ice.  A  friend  at  home,  who  once 
steamed  to  the  edge  of  the  polar  ice  field  from  Norway, 
has  related  that  some  of  the  party  were  so  overwhelmed 
at  the  cruel  sight  as  to  burst  into  tears.  Shrinking  to 
the  cabin  they  remained  there  until  the  vessel  steamed 
away  and  the  ice  was  well  behind. 


INDIAN  CAMP  IN  THE  BARRENS 


A  TRAVELING  TENT 


1905  165 

By  the  time  the  long  twilight  came  on  we  had  had 
more  than  enough  of  the  ice,  and  were  ready  to  take 
to  the  cabin  ourselves.  But  all  was  not  over.  The 
North  had  yet  to  make  its  parting,  in  a  way  we  little 
thought.  As  we  were  about  to  go  below,  leaving  those 
who  could  deal  with  the  situation  to  do  so,  there  fell 
across  the  sea  from  some  distant  horizon  around  the 
cape  an  afterlight  of  the  sunset,  touching  with  warm 
color  a  few  heaved-up  points  of  the  ice  field  and  calling 
into  fine  rose  the  whole  far-stretching  crescent  of 
bergs.  In  the  gray  waste  they  had  been  all  but  indis- 
tinguishable before.  Now,  in  subdued  exquisite  flame 
they  came  forth  over  the  plain.  From  a  chill  desola- 
tion the  scene  was  transformed  as  few  places  of  earth 
ever  are.     The  ice  world  was  become  a  vision  untold. 

At  three  next  morning  we  were  dropped  overside 
behind  the  Cape  Island,  in  Windy  Tickle,  and  the 
steamer  returned  south.  As  it  happened  to  be  Sunday 
we  did  not  care  to  make  a  start,  and  piling  our  things 
on  the  shore,  we  walked  across  the  island  to  Spracklins, 
where  all  were  "  ready  for  the  rush  " —  of  cod.  There 
were  no  fish  coming  in,  of  course,  though  the  water 
was  said  to  be  "  full  of  them."  The  ice  was  piled  up 
in  the  harbor  entrance. 

Next  morning  the  ice  had  loosened,  though  as  we 
pulled  out  of  the  Tickle  to  the  north  it  looked  as  dense 
as  ever  outside.  Soon  two  schooners  came  up  behind 
on  the  south  breeze  and  entered  the  pack  near  us  to 
seaward.  They  might  as  well  have  tried  to  plough 
the  land,  as  it  looked  to  me,  but  they  never  quite  came 
to  a  stop,  as  I  remember,  and  surprisingly  soon  had  a 
good  offing.  By  night  the  pack  had  really  begun  to 
string  off. 


166  Labrador 

During  the  next  four  days  we  worked  our  way  some 
seventy-five  miles  to  the  Assiwaban.  At  times  the 
floating  bits  of  ice  made  the  rowing  backward  annoy- 
ing. The  larger  ice  lodged  outside  the  islands,  shut- 
ting out  all  swell,  all  feel  of  the  sea;  we  were  traveling 
in  level  salt  water  lakes.  The  more  open  bays  were 
well  lined  with  pack  ice  and  bits  of  berg,  streaming  with 
water  in  the  sun  and  wearing  away  rapidly  between 
tides,  for  in  the  long  days  the  water  warmed  in  the 
inner  shallows  and  coming  out  with  the  tide  undercut 
the  grounded  masses.  At  low  tide  some  overhanging 
shelf  of  several  tons'  weight  would  break  off  and  fall 
six  or  seven  feet  flat  to  the  water  with  a  report  like 
a  field  gun.  All  night  this  artillery  would  keep  up, 
here  and  there  about  the  open  bays,  and  the  splash 
something  to  be  regarded.  Any  of  the  higher  ice  was 
likely  to  turn  over  at  any  time.  Once  an  under-water 
table  began  to  lift  as  I  was  passing  over  it,  and  I  had 
to  pull  fast  to  get  away.  It  would  be  -no  joke  to  get 
hove  up  that  way  and  dropped  into  a  lot  of  churning 
fragments. 

Wonderful,  often  fantastic,  are  the  shapes  of  the 
ice.  Through  one  narrow  berg  fragments  had  been 
perforated  a  row  of  handsome  arches,  curiously  alike. 
A  mushroom  form  was  common,  the  stem  being  shaped 
by  the  wash  of  the  warm  waves  as  the  tides  came  and 
went.  All  the  nights  had  their  strong  aurora.  We 
lay  upon  the  smooth  moss  of  the  beaches  and  slept 
under  its  splendor.  On  those  calm  nights  the  cold 
air  over  the  icy  sea  of  the  archipelago  met  the  warm  air 
of  the  inland  as  in  a  wall.  Then  would  appear  a 
marvelous  waving  band  following  high  over  the  shore 
line,  a  great  scroll  rolling  and  unrolling  from  horizon 


1905  167 

to  horizon.  Folding  and  unfolding  it  stretched  from 
northwest  to  southeast.  We  never  felt  like  turning 
in  to  sleep  in  its  presence;  again  and  again  we  would 
uncover  our  faces  for  a  last  look.  How  far  it  ex- 
tended in  such  times  of  widespread  calm  would  be 
hard  to  say.  Around  the  continental  north,  perhaps,  its 
white  wraith  shone,  a  map  supernal  of  the  sub-arctic 
shores. 

At  Un'sekat  we  stopped.  I  had  not  been  there  since 
Antone  and  I  sailed  away  that  dark  day  two  years 
before.  Only  Mrs.  A.  and  the  daughter  were  there 
at  the  time.  There  was  not  very  much  to  say,  we 
were  two  white  travelers  and  imposed  our  atmosphere ; 
the  trout  were  good.  It  was  still  early,  and  we  pushed 
along  a  bay  before  camping,  while  the  weather  served. 

Up  Voisey's  bay  next  morning  we  had  a  following 
wind.  It  was  interesting  to  see  how  the  two  canoes 
compared  with  each  other.  Mine  was  as  smooth  as 
a  piano,  and  when  rowed  in  calm  water  went  well. 
Under  sail,  too,  and  our  sails  were  exactly  alike,  she 
would  draw  away  from  the  birch.  But  let  a  little  sea 
come  on  and  her  broad  bilges  begin  to  pat,  and  the 
half -mysterious  lines  of  the  Indian  birch  told.  She 
was  designed.  If  the  birch  had  had  the  smoothness  of 
my  boat  she  would  easily  have  passed  ahead  at  all 
times. 

There  were  fish  enough  up  through  the  river,  none 
of  more  than  four  pounds.  Q.  did  most  of  the  poling, 
he  was  better  at  it  than  I,  and  the  birch  did  not  pole 
very  well;  she  had  a  paddling  model.  I  would  walk 
the  bank  along  the  rapids,  mostly  to  lighten  the  boat. 
The  sand  beaches  carried  some  tracks.  Wolves  seemed 
numerous,  though  we  saw  none,  nor  heard  them  nights. 


168  Labrador 

We  may  have  seen  the  tracks  of  a  hundred  or  two  dur- 
ing the  trip. 

We  were  both  doubtful  sleepers,  none  the  less  so  in 
mosquito  country,  and  during  the  first  of  the  trip 
found  it  well  to  stop  early  and  put  up  good  defenses 
for  the  night.  So  it  was  that  when  we  found  calm 
water  in  the  wind  lake  we  camped  with  the  worst  place 
ahead  of  us,  although  it  was  long  before  sunset.  Q. 
could  hardly  believe  that  so  small-appearing  and  calm 
a  water  need  be  much  regarded.  But  it  is  not  for 
nothing  that  this  is  held  to  be  one  of  the  places  where 
the  Great  Grampus  is  in  charge,  for  with  a  norther 
which  came  on  over  night  we  were  half  a  day,  wet  and 
devilled  about  by  the  backwash  from  the  long  swing 
of  the  rocky  north  portal,  before  being  safe  out  of 
the  lake.  Five  times  now  I  have  gone  through  the 
place  on  perfectly  flat  water;  five  times,  on  the  other 
hand,  the  Grampus  has  lashed  his  tail;  five  times  the 
Indians'  underwater  people  have  been  awake.  People 
of  the  open  know  that  only  when  these  powers  of  the 
water  places  are  occupied  or  asleep  should  one  try  to 
travel.  A  good  offering  to  them,  at  least,  is  indis- 
pensable. 

Two  or  three  miles  above  the  lake  a  canoe  with  three 
Indians  shot  around  the  far  bend.  They  turned  in 
and  we  met  at  the  bank.  I  knew  them  all,  Ostinitsu, 
Pah-kuun-noh,  and,  now  a  young  man,  Nah-payo,  or, 
Nah-harpao,  the  "  One-who-sees-far."  Old  O's  name 
means,  inappropriately  now,  "  The  Young  Man,"  and 
P.'s  the  "  Man-of-the-sea,"  or  Sailor-man.  Before 
making  a  fire  they  cautiously  placed  a  circle  of  wet 
sand  on  the  moss,  for  the  weather  was  dry,  and  only 
white  men  burn  their  own  country.     We  had  a  good 


GUESTS 


BARREN  GROUND   LAKE,  TSHINUTIVISH,  1906 


1905  169 

luncheon ;  they  were  glad  to  have  our  tobacco,  tea,  and 
sugar,  with  the  other  things  on  our  list.  Deer,  they 
said,  were  scarce  at  Tshinutivis,  but  they  had  enough 
fish.  The  water  had  been  hard.  They  were  thin  and 
looked  overworked.  It  was  a  friendly  meal,  and  they 
stood  the  camera  well  enough  afterward;  as  usual  the 
old  man  winced  a  little. 

Off  they  went,  with  no  gun,  having  only  a  deer  spear 
in  the  boat  and  not  much  fur,  making  fast  time  with 
their  three  paddles.  The  boat  was  a  birch  of  some 
power,  built  by  O.  himself.  "  Ehe,"  he  had  said,  "  As- 
tulan."  "  Yes,  I  build  canoes."  They  sat  low,  hard 
down  on  their  heels,  and  flew  down  the  current  for  the 
great  portal. 

There  were  no  recent  deer  tracks  at  the  forks. 
Above  there,  sometimes,  a  fresh  track  slanted  down 
one  of  the  high  cut  banks,  visible  in  the  sliding  sand 
from  a  half  mile  away.  Sometimes  there  were  two 
tracks,  a  little  apart  and  parallel,  as  caribou  best  like 
to  go. 

Mosquitoes  were  much  as  of  old,  the  trip  through. 
Q.,  in  the  assurance  of  long  experience  on  the  southern 
slope  of  far  trips  up  Peribonka  and  other  rivers  of  the 
Saguenay  basin,  had  regarded  with  some  indifference 
my  display  of  fly  protectives, —  gloves  and  veil  and 
kerchiefs  and  tar  grease,  and  my  net-fronted  helmet  for 
nights.  I  folded  them  all  away  and  bided  the  future. 
Somewhere  along  the  river  the  evil  day  came.  Q. 
was  tall  and  strong  and  energetic,  a  figure  in  the  open. 
When  the  time  came  his  shock  of  hair  stood  all  ways, 
and  he  swung  his  long  arms  like  flails.  "You  told 
me!  You  told  me  how  it  would  be!  But  I  never 
dreamed  anything  about  it!  " 


170  Labrador 

As  we  entered  the  unknown  country  west  we  were 
a  little  the  worse  for  wear.  Coming  from  the  steamer 
soft  and  out  of  training  we  had  fallen  upon  the  long 
pull  up  the  coast,  with  some  head  wind,  and  this  get- 
ting from  the  steamer  to  the  Assiwaban,  which  could 
have  been  done  in  one  easy  day  from  Nain,  if  our  plans 
to  leave  the  steamer  there  had  worked  out,  had  taken 
the  first  freshness  out  of  us.  It  was  the  old  story, 
men  from  town  fall  away  at  first  under  heavy  work. 
One  depends  on  the  first  days  of  physical  fizz  and  en- 
thusiasm to  get  an  offing,  but  these  were  now  used 
up,  and  although  an  easy  four  or  five  days  along  the 
river  would  have  restored  the  balance,  we  did  not  feel 
like  taking  the  time,  late  as  we  were.  Once  on  the  port- 
ages of  the  high  inland,  the  canoe  felt  heavy,  and  the 
outfit  too.  The  assurance  that  went  with  having  these 
things  meant  a  great  deal  to  Q. ;  he  preferred  to  travel 
with  all  chances  eliminated,  so  far  as  possible,  and  was 
willing  to  carry  the  weight.  The  shadow  of  Hubbard's 
history  was  a  little  in  the  air  then. 

Wet  weather  came  on  at  our  second  camp  on  the 
highlands.  A  shower  was  coming  when  we  landed 
at  the  head  of  a  pond,  and  as  usual  we  simply  lay  down 
with  the  tent  laid  over  us  and  waited.  For  more  than 
an  hour  the  water  came  down  as  it  rarely  does  there. 
Gradually  the  little  brooks  from  the  folds  of  the  tent 
worked  inside  and  found  us,  and  in  time,  wet  enough, 
we  put  up  the  tent.  It  had  seemed  as  if  the  pour  would 
never  stop.  Once  the  tent  was  standing,  of  course 
the  rain  let  up,  and  a  cold  north  wind  came  on  with 
finer  rain.  There  was  not  much  wood,  it  was  hard 
to  get  dried  out.  In  the  morning  we  took  over  a 
load  to  the  next  lake,  perhaps  a  mile  and  a  half,  largely 


1905  171 

through  bogs  now  afloat.  The  brown  waterproof 
bags,  a  provision  of  Q.'s,  were  saving  things  then. 
They  are  invincible.  Poured  full  of  flour  one  of  them 
lay  out  two  nights  and  a  day  in  the  rain  and  was  none 
the  worse.  They  carried  beautifully  well,  too. 
Through  the  day  we  got  an  occasional  spreading  stump 
from  the  neighborhood,  and  kept  a  fire  until  three  or 
four  in  the  afternoon.  It  is  a  curious  thing  that  we 
stood  propped  on  our  legs  by  that  fire  practically  all 
that  day,  torpid,  and  never  thought  to  get  something 
to  sit  on.  We  merely  turned  one  damp  side  to  the 
fire  and  then  the  other,  standing.  At  last  we  got  a 
meal,  and  slept  a  long,  flyless  night. 

Mornings  and  evenings  there  came  a  curious,  lamb- 
like bleating  from  the  scrub  down  at  the  end  of  the 
pond;  for  a  time  we  could  not  make  it  out.  It  came 
from  willow  ptarmigan.  The  bushes  were  nearly  like 
a  henyard  with  feathers,  and  we  saw  a  good  many 
birds,  large  and  able  to  fly  well  now.  They  were  every- 
where where  there  was  any  cover  that  year ;  one  ought 
to  have  picked  up  forty  or  fifty  in  two  or  three  hours 
of  kicking  about  the  scrub  places.  Slight  cover  of 
some  sort  occurs  in  a  good  many  places,  although  most 
of  the  country  along  this  reach  is  barren  and  monoto- 
nous, and  peculiarly  desolate  and  unattractive  in  dark 
weather. 

The  difference  between  the  walking  in  really  wet 
weather  and  dry  is  very  great.  No  country  need  be 
better  than  this  is  in  continued  dry  weather,  when  even 
the  lower  grounds  between  ponds  are  perfectly  pas- 
sable, though  sometimes  uneven  with  tussocks  and 
large  stones,  or  somewhat  quaking  when  one  goes 
over  with  a  heavy  load   on;  the  general  country  is 


172  Labrador 

open  and  but  for  field-stone  boulders  might  do  in  places 
for  a  motor  car. 

A  few  days'  rain  and  the  slipperiness  and  puddling 
tendency  of  the  light  felspathic  soil  changes  the  foot- 
ing abominably.  The  swamps  go  afloat,  one  gyrates 
from  boulder  to  boulder  with  heavy  wrenching  strains 
from  the  pack,  or  has  to  hoist  oneself  and  load  from 
some  swashy  black  puddle  to  a  stone  a  foot  and  a  half 
above  and  step  down  into  the  mud  again,  turning  and 
stretching  and  sidestepping  in  a  most  exhausting  way. 
Better  a  mile  of  firm,  even  ground  than  a  hundred  feet 
of  this.  Nor,  again,  are  some  of  the  quaking  bogs 
anything  of  the  easiest  to  take  a  load  over  in  a  wet 
time. 

This  camp  of  the  northeast  weather  and  the  portage 
beyond  were  of  the  soaky  kind.  There  is  a  Camp 
Misery  somewhere  in  every  one's  trip,  and  though 
there  was  nothing  particularly  salient  on  this  occasion, 
or  novel  to  either  of  us,  we  were  just  thoroughly  un- 
comfortable for  a  day  or  two,  and  the  swampy  portage 
was  wearing.  Somewhere  in  it  I  found  where  one  of 
the  three  Indians  had  sat  on  a  boulder  to  rest,  leaving 
a  pair  of  deep  footprints  when  he  rose  to  his  feet  to 
go  on  with  his  load.  Their  canoe  looked  to  weigh  a 
hundred  and  twenty-five  pounds,  and  they  were  light 
men.  There  was  no  trail,  for  in  swampy  places  each 
man  of  a  party  seeks  an  untrodden  way  as  being  firmer 
than  if  puddled  up  by  another  traveler.  The  mat  of 
the  bog  becomes  weakened  by  repeated  passing  and 
may  go  through.  In  fact,  as  to  anything  like  a  beaten 
path,  there  cannot  be  more  than  four  or  five  miles 
of  it  that  really  helps  one  on  the  whole  Indian  route 
from  the  coast  to  the  George. 


1905  173 

We  lunched  at  the  end  of  a  long,  narrow  pond  run- 
ning near  west,  and  emptying  into  a  Mistastin  branch. 
Up  to  this  time  the  drainage  had  been  eastward  toward 
the  high  portage.  While  we  were  eating  Q.  noticed 
a  black  bear  seven  or  eight  hundred  yards  away  on  an 
easy  slope.  He  was  so  black  as  to  be  almost  luminous 
against  the  white  moss  country.  By  his  sudden  moves 
and  snatches  he  appeared  to  be  mousing.  They  turn 
up  stones  and  bits  of  ground  for  the  mice,  and  are 
better  at  the  cat's  game  than  one  would  think  from 
their  figure  and  size;  they  are  sometimes  very  funny 
at  it.  After  awhile  the  bear  came  into  broken  ground 
and  in  range  of  a  large  boulder,  so  that  we  were  able 
to  make  an  approach,  when  Q.  fired  two  or  three  shots 
from  his  Savage  rifle,  and  we  found  our  victim  down 
presently  in  a  little  hollow.  We  had  been  fairly  con- 
cealed, and  what  with  the  smokeless  powder  and  slight 
reports,  he  never  knew  where  we  were. 

He  was  not  a  large  bear,  but  perhaps  as  much  as 
three  hundred  pounds  in  weight,  being  almost  as  broad 
as  a  woodchuck.  His  weight  was  mainly  a  matter  of 
fat;  it  was  two  inches  deep  over  the  back  and  plenty 
everywhere  it  could  be,  inside  and  out.  Like  almost 
everything  else  in  the  country  that  could  eat  mice,  the 
bear  was  full  of  them.  The  next  year,  a  hard  year  for 
the  bears,  for  there  were  no  mice,  I  shot  one  half  as 
large  again  in  frame,  but  it  was  not  much  heavier; 
there  was  no  fat  whatever  on  him. 

The  coming  in  of  a  stock  of  good  bear  meat  cheered 
our  way.  In  the  warm  weather  the  fat  fell  from 
perfect  sweetness  in  about  a  day,  but  the  meat  itself  was 
extremely  good  as  long  as  it  lasted. 

The  pond  of  our  little  hunt,  narrow  and  about  two 


174  Labrador 

miles  long,  we  called  Bear  pond.  A  northwester 
began  to  blow  as  we  put  off,  growing  to  a  very  strong 
gale,  and  though  it  would  hardly  seem  possible  to  be- 
come windbound  on  a  narrow  pond  of  this  size,  get- 
ting ahead  was  so  slow  and  hard,  that  we  actually 
stopped  and  camped  in  a  nearly  woodless  place  half 
way  to  the  end.  There  was  no  putting  up  a  tent,  if 
only  for  want  of  poles.  In  the  two  days  we  were  there 
we  used  up  the  firewood  for  a  long  distance  around, 
though  the  cooking  took  little,  and  the  camp  was  nearly 
shelterless.  Close  up  under  a  little  fringe  of  scrub 
evergreen,  a  foot  and  a  half  high,  we  had  the  fire  and 
the  cooking  things;  and  behind  the  only  other  growth 
of  the  kind  about  we  slept.  So  protected,  the  night 
showers  blew  over  us  very  well.  We  were  comfortable 
enough,  but  it  is  a  bleak,  windy,  exposed  country  along 
there,  and  one  may  have  a  real  norther  with  snow  any 
night. 

The  first  afternoon  we  wandered  off  west  a  mile  or 
two  to  some  trees,  looking  at  the  country  and  for 
game.  There  was  little  sign  of  deer  about.  Upon  a 
good  rise  to  see  from  was  a  great  boulder,  some  ten 
feet  high,  riven  by  frost  or  some  internal  stress  into 
fragments  with  fissures  of  some  size  between.  I 
climbed  up,  but  while  meditating  on  the  wide  stretch 
of  country  and  the  many  lakes,  a  strong,  growling  sigh 
came  from  exactly  under  me  inside  the  rock,  and  I  got 
down  in  a  hurry.  It  is  absurd  how  those  sudden  four- 
footed  sounds  awake  old  instincts  to  dodge.  It  was 
only  an  arctic  fox.  We  could  see  his  dingy  summer 
tail  through  a  large  fissure,  but  it  moved  in  farther 
and  out  of  sight  when  touched  with  a  stick. 

The  wind  blew  again  next  day  and  we  put  in  the 


1905  175 

time  afoot,  mainly  exploring-  for  the  route.  Some 
five  miles  northwest  was  a  commanding  hill  of  smooth 
slopes  to  which  we  beat  up  against  the  gale.  There 
were  two  visible  water  routes  in  that  direction,  but 
we  could  find  no  signs  of  travel.  We  wrere  very  close 
to  some,  if  we  had  known  it;  but  the  route  here, 
in  a  general  way  westerly,  turns  sharply  south  for  a 
mile  and  a  half  and  is  easy  to  miss.  Beyond  the  high 
hill,  known  after  1906  as  Caribou  Hill,  was  a  fine 
broad  lake.  Southeast,  and  about  the  rolling  plain 
generally,  were  forty  or  fifty  lakes  and  ponds  up  to 
four  or  five  miles  long.  Still  a  third  route  used  by 
Indians  led  south,  then  west,  if  we  had  known,  but 
it  was  masked  from  us  by  a  high  ridge.  The  locality 
was  confusing,  with  its  hills  and  many  ponds.  The 
views  we  took  from  the  hill  show  little,  for  in  north 
winds  the  water  looks  nearly  black  from  above  and 
photographs  badly;  at  such  times  the  longer  slopes  of 
the  waves  are  in  shadow,  while  with  wind  from  the 
direction  of  the  sun  they  are  lighted.  As  to  finding 
our  route  we  were  little  better  off  at  night  than  in 
the  morning.  By  evening  the  wind  went  down.  We 
fished  a  little,  mainly  to  find  out  what  there  Avas  in 
the  pond,  but,  surprisingly  for  that  country,  had  not 
a  bite.  After  supper  an  interesting  fish  near  two  feet 
long  appeared  at  the  edge  of  the  water,  but  it  had 
moved  out  too  far  by  the  time  Q.  could  get  his  rifle 
and  shoot  at  it.  It  looked  like  a  whitefish  or  white 
sucker.  Some  sizable  pieces  of  bear  fat  we  had  pitched 
out  on  the  water  soon  began  to  wabble  and  finally 
disappeared,  but  we  did  not  see  just  how.  They 
may  have  sunk. 

As  I  was  knocking  about  the  place  in  the  morning, 


176  Labrador 

Q.  still  asleep,  the  three  Indians  we  had  met  in  the 
river  valley  came  almost  alongside  before  I  saw  them. 
We  turned  over  our  provisions  to  them  and  they  made 
a  meal,  eating  much  bear  but  avoiding  the  fat.  They 
were  quite  in  distress.  The  Pelican  had  not  come, 
the  store  was  almost  bare,  and  they  had  been  un- 
able to  get  much;  no  ammunition,  tobacco,  nor  much 
of  anything ;  could  we  let  them  have  some  powder  and 
shot  and  tobacco?  Of  course  we  stripped  ourselves 
of  what  we  could  possibly  spare.  Then  we  talked 
about  the  route  and  finally  arranged  with  them  to  help 
us  as  far  as  Mistinipi  Lake,  if  we  would  not  take  too 
much  luggage.  I  took  a  large  waterproof  bag  and 
began  to  put  things  into  it,  the  heavier  things.  As 
it  filled  up  they  looked  uneasy,  and  as  I  remember 
demurred  audibly.  Their  relief  when  I  finally  jammed 
the  heavy  bag  under  the  scrub  to  be  left  behind  was 
easy  to  see.  Off  we  went,  they  having  little  of  their 
own  to  carry,  and  taking  some  of  our  things,  we  doing 
what  we  could.  It  was  a  warm  day  of  gathering  dul- 
ness,  with  flies.  The  Indians  were  naturally  faster 
than  we  were,  with  their  long  canoe  and  three  pad- 
dles. "  Mauats  tshilipi !  "  I  exhorted  old  O.  "  Do 
not  hurry!  "  "  Mauats!  "  he  answered,  and  kept  his 
word.  On  Long  Lake  we  gradually  accumulated  a 
cloud  of  mosquitoes.  About  the  other  canoes,  fifty 
feet  ahead,  they  appeared  as  a  bluish  nimbus,  five  or 
six  feet  across.  I  had  never  seen  mosquitoes  visible  at 
a  distance  in  that  way.  Yet  I  thought  the  Indians  got 
only  about  half  the  actual  bites  we  did,  ordinarily. 
Where  a  mosquito  would  pitch  upon  one  of  our  hands 
without  hesitation,  wasplike  and  end  on,  it  would  pause 
and  hover  a  little  over  the  skin  of  an  Indian  and  light 


1905  177 

quietly.  The  canoes  went  abreast  for  a  time,  and 
looking  across  I  noticed  that  old  O.  had  done  up  his 
head  in  a  piece  of  black  netting  I  had  given  him;  he 
seemed  glad  to  have  it.  Likewise  Indians  are  ready 
to  accept  tar  grease  after  seeing  white  men  use  it. 
They  are  keen,  indeed,  to  see  the  advantage  of  al- 
most any  new  thing  and  to  make  the  most  of  it. 

Two  or  three  times  while  we  were  with  them  one 
of  them  would  go  ashore,  pull  out  some  dried  meat 
from  under  a  rock,  and  carry  it  back  to  the  canoe. 
They  had  provided  for  their  return  trip  in  this  way. 
There  was  a  rifle  in  their  boat  now,  which  had  prob- 
ably been  cached  somewhere  near  where  we  met  them 
first,  or  perhaps  it  had  been  at  the  post  for  repairs. 
They  do  not  seem  to  have  faculty  about  metal  work; 
William  Edmunds,  with  the  Eskimo  superiority  in 
such  matters,  used  to  fix  up  their  guns  for  them. 

Of  course  the  main  work  came  on  the  land  portages. 
Q.  carried  the  canoe,  I  a  stout  pack  on  a  headstrap. 
The  Indians  carried  on  a  line  over  the  head  and  an- 
other over  the  front  of  the  shoulders,  over  which  was 
thrown  a  blanket  to  take  the  cut  of  this  line.  On 
the  head  they  placed  a  bunch  of  evergreen  twigs  to 
take  away  the  cut  there  of  the  string.  They  told  me, 
rightly,  that  a  headstrap  alone,  as  I  had  it,  was  not 
the  thing,  but  I  did  not  venture  a  change  that  trip. 
Their  carrying  lines  were  mostly  of  caribou  leather, 
braided  round,  a  little  larger  than  heavy  cod  line,  say 
three  sixteenths  of  an  inch  or  more  in  diameter.  In 
resting  we  sat  down  in  file  on  the  ground,  each  man 
ahead  of  a  boulder,  which  took  the  weight  of  his  pack. 
All  one  could  see  looking  ahead  was  a  line  of  large 
bundles  on  boulders,  with  no  person  in  sight.     Then 


178  Labrador 

all  the  packs  would  rise  up  and  move  on  in  procession, 
each  with  a  thin  pair  of  legs  stepping  along  under  it. 

Old  O.  and  I  took  things  much  alike.  If  there  was 
an  extra  turn  to  make  over  the  portage  one  of  the 
younger  men  did  it.  O.,  strong  as  he  was,  would 
nevertheless  have  enough  of  the  job  by  the  time  our 
canoe  was  over  and  was  content  to  drop  on  the  moss 
and  rest.  Young  Na'pao,  fifty  pounds  lighter,  would 
trot  over  with  their  large  canoe,  perhaps  for  his  sec- 
ond trip  over  the  portage,  and,  untouched,  would 
stand  at  the  edge  of  the  water  and  throw  stones.  The 
Indians  could  have  circled  around  us  as  we  went. 

Late  in  the  day  I  felt  pretty  well  steadied  down, 
and  noticed  that  O.  seemed  to  have  about  the  same 
gait.  "  Aieskushin-ah  ?  "  I  asked,  "Are  you  tired?" 
"  Ehe,"  "  Yes,"  he  said,  simply.  I  was  a  little  sur- 
prised, for  it  is  not  easy  to  get  Indians,  as  I  know  them, 
to  own  up  to  being  tired.  They  are  "  hungry,"  gener- 
ally, that  is  all.  The  difference  is  not  so  much,  for  as 
an  old  Matterhorn  man  once  said,  "If  you  see  a  man 
giving  out,  feed  him !  " 

We  passed  through  seven  or  eight  ponds  that  day, 
camping  late  on  a  small  lake  where  were  a  few  trees. 
The  route  from  Long  Lake  had  been  shut  in  among 
close  hills  and  the  ponds  and  streams  between  were 
small.  Ledges  were  rare,  the  hills  being  ground 
smooth  by  ice-cap  action  and  then  more  or  less  carpeted 
by  the  thin  moss.  Where  rock  showed  it  was  often 
marked  by  glacial  scratches,  and  was  harder  than  the 
felspathic  or  eruptive  base  of  the  more  open  country 
toward  the  coast. 

At  the  little  lake  where  we  finally  stopped  O.  walked 
up  with  his  axe  to  the  largest  of  a  few  scattered  trees 


1905  179 

about.  It  had  live  branches  sloping  downward  to 
the  ground.  On  the  side  away  from  a  possible  north 
storm  he  trimmed  off  enough  low  branches  to  be  able 
to  get  in  alongside  to  the  trunk,  and  then  thatched 
in  overhead  the  palm-like  boughs  he  had  cut  off,  plac- 
ing them  at  a  steep  angle.  Here,  close  to  the  trunk, 
the  three  Indians  slept,  using  their  little  leather  tent, 
a  flat  affair  shaped  like  an  Eton  collar  six  or  seven  feet 
wide,  for  an  additional  blanket.  Though  it  showered 
in  the  night  they  were  perfectly  well  sheltered.  We, 
likewise,  used  our  tent  as  a  blanket,  and  came  off 
fairly  well. 

We  were  stirring  in  the  gray  of  the  morning.  Pa- 
kuunnoh  washed  his  hands  in  the  lake  without  soap 
and  got  breakfast.  Their  hands  seem  never  grimy 
or  to  need  care.  They  kept  the  dishes  clean,  the  few 
that  there  were.  At  luncheon  the  day  before  I  had 
handed  our  tin  pail  to  Pakuunnoh  to  make  tea.  He 
took  off  the  cover  and  turned  away  to  get  water,  but 
I  noticed,  though  he  was  looking  off  absently,  that  he 
furtively  touched  his  finger  tips  to  the  inside  of  the 
pail.  They  stuck  a  trifle,  we  had  boiled  fat  bear  in  it 
and  not  done  our  washing  too  well.  Pakuunnoh 
grunted  significantly,  went  silently  to  the  water  and 
scrubbed  the  pail  out  well. 

As  we  were  putting  out  from  shore,  about  five, 
Q.'s  hunter  eyes  caught  a  caribou  stag  walking  up  a 
distant  sky  line.  He  and  Napao  went  after  it  and 
surprisingly  soon  brought  back  the  meat.  The  stag 
appeared  to  have  sought  the  top  of  a  ridge  to  get  its 
ruminating  doze  away  from  flies.  The  horns  were  of 
course  in  velvet  at  that  time.  Napao  had  tried  Q.'s 
soul  while  cutting  up  the  deer  by  slashing  into  the 


180  Labrador 

flinty  bones  with  his  fine,  hard-tempered  knife  and 
taking  out  liberal  nicks.  The  Indian  knives  and  axes 
are  soft  enough  to  sharpen  with  a  file  and  do  not 
chip. 

At  the  end  of  the  lake  we  had  to  leave  some  of  the 
meat  for  our  return.  I  did  not  know  just  what  to  do 
with  it  and  asked  the  Indians  to  cache  it  for  us.  P. 
walked  up  to  a  little  thick-topped  evergreen  and  shoved 
it  in  among  the  branches ;  away  from  the  ground  on 
account  of  the  smaller  animals,  out  of  sight,  on  the 
other  hand,  from  the  ravens  and  jays.  "  Shetshi- 
mao!"  I  objected,  "  The  flies!"  "  Mauats  shetshi- 
mao,"  "  No  flies,"  P.  returned.  When  we  came  back 
four  or  five  days  later,  there  were  some  small  fly- 
blows on  it,  but  no  harm  done.  But  we  had  had  a 
very  cold  storm  meanwhile,  and  if  it  had  been  warmer 
there  would  have  been  trouble,  I  should  say.  Still, 
without  the  storm  we  should  have  been  back  much 
sooner,  and  this  the  Indians  may  have  reckoned  on. 

The  height  of  land  came  at  the  head  of  a  fine  lake 
four  or  five  miles  long,  which  we  called  Hawk  Lake, 
from  the  falcons'  nests  on  some  moderate  cliffs  near 
the  narrows.  The  falcons  bred  on  almost  all  cliffs 
that  year,  from  the  coast  in.  The  actual  height  of 
land  was  a  broad,  low  saddle  with  a  trifling  valley  or 
draw  through  it,  and  a  tiny  pond  or  two.  The  portage, 
over  smooth,  velvety  ground,  was  only  thirty  or  forty 
feet  above  the  lakes  on  either  side  and  was  little  more 
than  a  half  mile  long.  Now  we  were  on  George  River 
water,  a  handsome,  deep-looking  lake  with  some  high 
cliff  shores  on  the  south,  and  some  two  miles  in  length. 
A  rugged  portage  of  two  miles,  partly  on  a  bad  path, 
brought  us  to  the  long  eastern  tail  of  Mistinipi.     Here, 


1905  181 

under  the  sheltering  height  of  land  hills  to  the  north- 
east, quite  a  belt  of  trees  stretched  along  the  right 
shore.  The  savage  Baffin's  Bay  influences  were  visi- 
bly less  on  this  side  of  the  watershed.  The  trees  were 
often  straight,  in  contrast  to  the  desperate  gnarled 
shapes  of  the  Atlantic  side.  But  it  was  only  special 
sheltered  places  that  showed  normal  trees;  almost 
everywhere  the  winter  winds  from  northwest  had  had 
a  blasting  touch,  for  the  trend  of  the  lake  basin  is  that 
way.  On  the  south  for  some  miles  were  wonderful 
smooth  gravel  levels,  with  moss-terraced  moraines, 
and  pairs  of  caribou  paths  following  along  the  slopes 
and  in  places  slanting  to  the  water. 

It  was  very  warm  that  afternoon,  close  and  over- 
cast. Heavy,  straight-down  showers  came  now  and 
then,  during  which  we  got  under  rocks  or  spruces  or 
the  boats,  as  best  we  might.  A  mile  down  Mistinipi 
is  a  close  narrows,  then  a  fairly  wide  water,  and  be- 
yond this  the  lake  is  two  miles  wide  or  more.  Then 
comes  the  main  narrows,  where,  as  another  heavy  pour 
came  on,  we  all  ran  for  a  cove  on  the  south  side. 
When  the  rain  let  up  we  had  a  fire  and  a  meal.  This 
last  part  of  the  day  continued  warm  and  overshadowed, 
the  air  hanging  with  moisture.  Something  was  brew- 
ing. The  Indians  were  uneasy  to  be  off.  To  the 
last  Q  and  I  argued  about  going  with  them.  Os- 
tinitsu  urged  us  to  come  along  to  their  camp,  saying 
that  it  was  "  mauats  katak,"  *  not  very  far.  We  had 
enough  food  to  get  there,  but  not  to  come  back  on.  I 
had  no  doubt  whatever  that  the  Indians  would  see  us 
provided,  but  when  I  tried  to  explain  that  we  wanted 
to  be  sure  of  supplies  to  come  back  with  they  seemed 
1  Mowats  kah-tark. 


182  Labrador 

confused.  I  take  it  they  could  not  .imagine  our  ask- 
ing such  a  question.  It  is  certain  that  as  invited  guests 
they  would  have  seen  us  provided,  even  if  they  ran 
short  themselves  in  doing  it.  If  we  got  delayed  coming 
back  it  would  not  hurt  us  to  miss  a  meal  anyway.  But 
after  all  we  gave  up  going.  In  the  end  I  told  Ostinitsu 
thtat  we  had  to  catch  a  steamer,  and  so  he  told  Mrs. 
Hubbard's  party  two  or  three  days  later  on  George 
River. 

They  had  accepted  the  leg  bones  of  the  caribou,  but 
left  the  meat  for  us.  I  doubt  their  caring  much  for 
the  fresh  meat  as  compared  with  the  dry,  but  in  any 
event  they  never  neglect  the  marrowbones.  In  the  mix 
of  separating  our  things  they  left  the  bones  after  all, 
so  we  ran  across  a  little  neck  and  called  to  them.  They 
took  the  bones  with  faces  averted,  Naskapi  fashion, 
and  drove  away  for  the  wide  lake  without  a  word.  It 
was  a  poor  parting  from  people  who  had  been  com- 
panionable and  kind,  no  less  helpful  and  interesting. 
Q.  and  I  went  back  to  our  fire  in  silence,  wet  and  tired 
and  not  happy. 

Ostinitsu  had  said  that  it  would  not  rain  much  more, 
when  I  was  discussing  the  difficulties  of  our  going  on, 
but  he  was  never  more  mistaken,  though  to  tell  the 
truth  I  think  he  shaped  his  words  to  his  wishes  for 
once.  However  this  may  have  been,  a  three  days' 
norther  set  in,  blowing  up  the  narrows  and  across  our 
slightly  timbered  point  until  our  tent  nearly  flapped 
away.  Occasionally  the  hills  would  whiten  with  snow, 
not  to  stay  long,  and  again  the  fine  rain  would  drive 
with  the  gusts.  The  backward  eddying  of  the  wind 
carried  sparks  against  the  hot  front  of  the  tent  when- 
ever our  fire  was  near  enough  to  be  in  any  way  worth 


1905  183 

having,  and  the  burnt  holes  gradually  increased  our 
ventilation.  The  tent  was  Egyptian  cotton,  "  balloon 
silk,"  which  is  strong,  light,  tight,  and  unabsorbent, 
but  when  hot  catches  fire  like  tinder.  From  a  mere 
spark  the  burning  spreads  fast,  with  white  smoke. 
It  was  a  mean  time,  adding  for  me  a  memorable  one 
to  the  cold,  wretched  northers  and  northeasters  of  a 
camping  lifetime.  One  cooks  little,  eats  cold,  every- 
thing gets  slinky,  and  the  wet  chill  of  the  air  gets 
into  one's  bones  and  disposition.  If  they  lasted  long 
enough  one  would  give  up.  No  wonder  that  among 
all  the  Indians  Death  comes  from  the  northeast. 

For  a  time  on  the  second  forenoon  the  rain  was  only 
mist,  though  the  wind  held  strong  and  cold.  We  went 
to  a  hill  some  way  southwest  and  looked  down  into  a 
pretty  pond,  with  caribou  roads  on  a  fine  moss  slope 
beyond.  This  is  the  heart  of  the  northeastern  range 
of  the  deer,  in  all  its  subarctic  perfection.  Even  in 
the  thick,  dark  weather  the  hills  and  lakes  held  our 
eyes.  We  were,  the  first  there  of  our  race.  The 
region  is  perhaps  the  fair  spot  of  all  the  Labrador 
peninsula.  If  it  had  been  clear  we  should  have  gone 
farther  and  seen  the  actual  escarpments  of  George 
River,  at  perhaps  twenty-five  miles  distance  as  the 
raven  flies. 

From  the  narrows  the  lake  opens  broad  to  the  west, 
and  from  the  hills  we  were  on  one  can  see  well  toward 
the  head  of  the  main  lake,  say  a  dozen  miles.  There 
were  ptarmigan  in  some  broken  ground  near  camp, 
gathered  among  some  sheltering  spruces.  A  strong 
rufous  tint  prevails  in  the  young  birds  at  this  time, 
especially  toward  the  head. 

The  third  day  the  wind  eased,  and  we  danced  across 


184  Labrador 

the  lively  narrows,  uneasily,  stopping,  heading  up 
into  the  gusts,  making  a  side  move  when  we  could; 
all  with  enough  misgivings,  for  at  any  time  a  final 
blast  from  the  wide  lake  might  concentrate  in  the 
narrows  to  our  grief.  Once  under  the  northern  lee 
our  way  eastward  was  sheltered ;  then  the  sky  bright- 
ened and  by  afternoon  we  were  on  smaller  waters. 
At  Hawk  Lake  the  wind  and  a  slight  rain  blew  straight 
on  shore  from  north;  we  had  no  choice  but  to  stop. 
For  an  hour  we  wandered  about  the  smooth  glaciated 
valleys  to  find  some  sheltered  spot,  enough  of  a  lee 
for  two  men  to  get  behind.  Not  a  bush,  not  a  rock 
was  available.  All  uprising  surfaces,  great  and  small, 
were  ground  smooth  and  rounded,  and  the  wind  swept 
every  one,  no  matter  what  way  it  faced.  Giving  up, 
we  returned  to  the  lake.  A  little  crest  of  sand  two  feet 
high  had  been  pushed  up  by  ice,  a  slight  barricado, 
vertical  on  the  land  side.  Behind  this  we  made  a 
fire  and  cooked.  When  we  sat  up  straight  the  wind 
and  rain  cut  our  ears,  but  half  lying  we  were  well 
sheltered.  After  supper  we  raked  away  the  fire  and 
made  our  bed  where  it  had  been,  the  only  spot  not 
reached  by  the  wind.  But  the  little  rampart  served,  we 
kept  close  under  its  straight  side,  held  from  caving 
by  a  lacing  of  moss,  and  the  rain  blew  on  over  us. 

The  night  over,  the  weather  turned  warmer.  We 
had  forgotten  the  existence  of  flies,  but  all  in  an  hour  of 
sun  they  rose  from  the  moss,  active,  numerous,  and 
apparently  keener  of  appetite  from  the  cold  spell.  It 
is  said  that  they  are  properly  vegetarians,  but  none  of 
these  seemed  to  waste  its  time  looking  for  anything  but 
ourselves.     As  compared  with  the  people  of  the  coun- 


1905  185 

try,  however,  they  may  well  have  regarded  us  as  green 
things. 

The  lengthening  portages  toward  the  Assiwaban,  wet 
as  they  were,  taxed  us  a  good  deal ;  never  have  I  drawn 
the  reserve  lower.  The  wind  lake  was  calm,  and  with- 
out discussion  we  held  on  half  the  night  to  get  it  be- 
hind us;  in  a  day,  then,  we  were  on  the  sea.  Now 
came  rowing.  How  Q.  hated  it !  and  longed  for  water 
where  his  great  paddle  would  serve.  Voisey  was 
away,  codfishing  at  House  Harbor,  and  we  pulled 
along.  Un'sekat  Island  showed  no  signs  of  life  and 
we  held  on  by;  seemingly  all  was  adverse.  But  on 
turning  south  from  the  Little  Rattle  who  should  meet 
us  but  Johnny  Edmunds,  in  Voisey's  long  boat.  We 
took  possession,  like  buccaneers,  turned  him  about, 
put  the  canoes  aboard,  and  kept  on  for  Fanny's.  It 
was  a  forlorn  hope,  as  steamer  dates  were,  but  there 
is  always  a  chance  as  voyages  go  with  the  mailboat. 
But  our  keelless  boat  refused  to  beat,  the  broadside 
canoes  took  the  wind  and  kept  her  falling  off  too  much. 
So  we  turned  in  for  House  Harbor,  ten  miles  east,  a 
lucky  stroke  as  it  came  out.  It  was  dark  when  we  got 
there,  where  we  found  John  V.  and  his  family  in  the 
little  house  which  gives  the  place  its  name.  Before  we 
were  up  next  morning  there  was  a  shout  and  we  got  out 
in  time  to  see,  with  sinking  feelings,  the  steamer  go- 
ing on  up  the  run  for  Nain.  Things  looked  doubtful ; 
it  was  a  dark,  northeast  day,  thick,  and  the  boat  might 
come  back  far  outside  or  run  by  us  in  the  varying  fog. 
We  borrowed  a  flag  from  a  schooner,  put  it  up,  and 
as  afternoon  came  on  watched  the  north  for  smoke. 
As  luck  would  have  it,  she  came  back  only  two  miles  out 


186  Labrador 

and  we  saw  her  black  cloud  carried  ahead  by  the  wind 
some  way  before  she  was  opposite.  Our  luggage  was 
already  aboard  the  trap  boat.  Leaving  the  canoes  to 
Voisey,  we  put  out,  and  the  long  trap's  wonderful  heels 
in  a  reach  took  us  over  in  time.  It  was  a  narrow 
squeak  then,  for  Captain  Parsons,  whom  I  could  see 
clearly  on  the  bridge,  thought  we  were  only  fishermen 
to  ask  how  were  the  fish  "  down  along."  The  mate 
had  seen  our  flag,  but  had  not  reported  it.  We  saw 
that  the  steamer  was  going  by  without  stopping.  In 
great  tension  I  jumped  upon  a  thwart,  bright  in  yellow 
oilskins,  and  motioned  savagely  to  the  bridge  of  the 
steamer  to  shut  down  steam.  It  was  no  fisherman's 
gesture,  and  something  came  to  Parsons;  I  saw  him 
reach  out  and  pull  the  lever.  We  were  pretty  near 
and  broad  off.  They  swung  around  into  the  wind  in 
a  long  circle  and  we  pulled  over  to  them.  Getting 
aboard  in  the  uneasy  water  took  quick  work.  About 
the  first  person  I  ran  into  was  the  Hon.  Elihu  Root, 
Secretary  of  State.  Some  one  had  asked  him  below  if 
he  was  going  up  to  see  Mr.  Cabot  get  on,  to  which  he 
returned  with  casual  interest,  "  Which  is  it,  John  or 
Sebastian?"  He  and  his  two  sons,  with  Colonel 
Sanger,  were  making  the  trip  of  the  coast. 

We  were  pretty  well  reduced  by  our  trip,  not  hav- 
ing taken  time  enough  anywhere  to  freshen  up,  and 
the  extra  heavy  loads  and  wet  country,  with  indifferent 
nights,  had  taken  our  spring  well  away;  aboard  the 
steamer  it  was  agreed  we  looked  like  picked  chickens. 

We  had  a  good  time  to  St.  John's,  gaining  our  pound 
a  day  on  the  boat,  in  accordance  with  custom,  and  were 
in  good  trim  by  the  time  we  were  there. 


CHAPTER  VIII 
1906 

The  season  of  1906  was  one  of  a  good  deal  of  knock- 
ing about  for  me  both  on  the  coast  and  inland.  I 
went  north  alone,  for  a  reason.  It  was  partly  that 
only  an  Indian  would  have  served  the  purposes  I  had 
in  mind,  and,  as  usual,  I  was  not  sufficiently  sure  be- 
forehand of  being  able  to  go  at  all  to  warrant  engaging 
one  ahead  from  one  of  the  Gulf  reserves.  For  the 
rest,  a  white  companion,  however  pleasant  and  helpful 
it  might  be  to  have  one,  would  be  in  some  respects  a 
disadvantage.  I  wanted  to  see  something  of  the  in- 
timate life  of  the  Indians,  and  it  is  hard  to  find  white 
men  who  care  for  that  sort  of  thing.  Mainly,  how- 
ever, I  had  come  to  know  that  one  can  never  really 
"  sit  in  "  with  primitive  people  when  white  companions 
are  along.  Alone,  one  is  easily  taken  into  the  group, 
there  is  always  room  for  one  new  person,  and  the  cur- 
rent of  the  life  moves  on.  A  white  party  on  the 
other  hand,  imposes  its  own  atmosphere,  and  the  visit 
comes  to  little  more  than  a  formal  meeting  between 
people  of  alien  races. 

Therefore,  taking  chances  though  it  was,  for  a  per- 
son alone  is  easily  balked,  I  went  north  alone.  There 
was  not  much  to  lose  on  the  geographical  side ;  during 
the  three  years  preceding,  the  country  along  the  height 
of  land  and  the  George  had  been  pretty  well  developed 
and  offered  little  that  would  be  new,  and  the  adjacent 

187 


188  Labrador 

districts  would  be  not  much  different,  certainly  no  bet- 
ter.    The  people  now  offered  more  than  the  country. 

Some  help  would  be  necessary  in  any  case,  but  I 
thought  things  would  work  out.  My  main  reliance 
was  the  Indians  themselves ;  one  year  and  another  they 
had  urged  me  to  come  and  go  in  with  them.  There 
was  only  the  chance  of  their  coming  out  too  late  in  the 
season,  and  I  thought  I  could  count  on  my  friends  of 
the  shore  for  at  least  enough  help  for  a  good  start 
inland,  when  I  could  work  along  the  familiar  route 
alone.     Sooner  or  later  Indians  would  come  along. 

Naturally  enough  the  working  out  of  my  plans 
proved  rather  a  head-wind  matter,  just  as  when  I  was 
north  alone  in  1903,  though  the  present  venture  came 
out  well  enough  in  the  end.  I  had  out  of  it  no  new 
exploration,  a  good  deal  of  knocking  about  among  old 
landmarks,  some  disappointments,  some  not  very  com- 
monplace experiences ;  all  in  all  it  ended  pretty  well. 

The  voyage  north  was  the  usual  thing  that  year. 
The  usual  shining  bergs  were  grounded  along  the 
coast,  the  usual  greater  ones  working  along  outside 
and  in  ad  libitum.  Fog,  as  usual,  came  and  went. 
Schooners  had  increased  in  numbers;  they  were  along 
everywhere  in  bunches  and  single.  The  ice-pack  at 
Cape  Harrigan  was  only  a  remnant,  and  we  made 
through  it  to  Fanny's  Harbor  at  about  the  usual  first- 
steamer  date  without  having  to  stop.  It  was  the  21st 
of  July. 

On  board  from  Battle  Harbor  north  were  Dr.  Town- 
send  and  Glover  Allen,  of  Boston,  studying  the  birds 
of  the  coast.  During  their  run  of  the  coast  was  gath- 
ered the  material  for  Dr.  Townsend's  "  Along  the 
Labrador  Coast."     They  named  many  of  the  sea  birds 


1906  189 

I  had  known  but  not  identified,  the  imposing  glaucous 
gull,  or  burgomaster,  among  others.  A  grampus 
which  leaped  repeatedly  off  Fanny's  they  named  the 
pike-headed  whale.  It  cleared  the  water  finely,  as 
lightly  as  a  minnow. 

I  wanted  to  get  to  Davis  Inlet  to  get  news  of  the 
Indians  and  to  shape  my  course,  and  Captain  Parsons, 
as  of  old,  had  offered  to  put  me  ashore  at  Newfound- 
land Harbor,  some  six  miles  across  land  from  the  Hud- 
son's Bay  Company  post;  but  on  going  ashore  at 
Fanny's  to  see  the  old  place  and  people,  I  found  that 
Guy,  the  Hudson's  Bay  Company  agent,  was  there 
for  mail  with  his  sailboat,  and  I  fell  quickly  upon  the 
opportunity  to  go  over  with  him. 

There  must  be  something  about  the  gray  old  Cape 
island,  out  to  the  sea,  or  perhaps  the  suggestive 
proximity  of  the  Devil's  Thumb  out  still  farther,  which 
upsets  people's  balance  at  Fanny's  Harbor,  and  stimu- 
lates their  imagination  to  the  fathering  of  sea  tales. 
Here  was  born  Spracklin's  story  of  my  canoe  voyage 
from  Davis  Inlet  in  the  wild  night  storm,  and  now 
came  another,  based  on  my  leaving  the  ship  with  a 
canoe.  Not  even  that  I  was  in  the  canoe,  for  I  only 
pulled  it  along  behind  the  ship's  boat  by  a  string  and 
laid  it  up  on  the  rocks.  But  imagination  found  some- 
thing to  lay  hold  of,  for  when  I  reached  my  own  club 
in  the  fall  I  found  that  I  had  been  seen  leaving  the 
steamer  alone  in  a  canoe  forty  miles  from  land! 

Fish  were  again  scarce  with  the  Spracklins.  Some 
of  the  old  crew  were  there,  Tom  Poole  among  the 
rest,  and  the  place  was  still  Fanny's  Harbor,  but  Ellen 
had  fallen  in  matrimony,  and  the  light  of  the  place 
was  dimmed  accordingly. 


190  Labrador 

Guy  and  I  had  a  meal,  gossiped  at  some  length 
with  the  Spracklins,  and  were  off  for  the  post  in  a  fail- 
ing wind.  Before  it  died,  however,  we  were  well  past 
the  heights  of  the  cape,  inside  the  Thumb,  and  on  be- 
hind the  sheltering  islands.  At  ten  or  eleven  we  were 
calmed  at  the  foot  of  Davis  Inlet  run,  with  a  tide 
coming  out.  There  was  a  current  notion  of  tying  up 
and  sleeping  in  the  boat,  among  the  mosquitoes,  but  I 
urged  another  form  of  punishment,  which  culminated 
in  a  back-breaking  pull  over  the  bar  and  to  the  post 
by  midnight. 

Tn  this  year,  1906,  I  at  least  had  a  good  outfit. 
Whatever  I  tried  to  do  that  failed  to  turn  out  was 
not  from  shortcomings  of  this  or  that  in  my  equip- 
ment. The  canoe  was  laid  out  particularly  for  the 
ponds  and  windy  portages  of  the  barrens.  It  was 
fifteen  feet  long  by  about  thirty-three  inches  wide  and 
fifteen  deep,  and  moderately  flat.  The  ends,  not  to 
catch  too  much  wind,  were  rather  low.  If  these  had 
been  a  little  more  run  out  she  would  have  been  faster 
and  better  about  getting  ahead  in  a  short  sea,  but  for 
this  she  took  less  side  wind  when  being  carried,  a  mat- 
ter worth  considering.  A  light  person  carrying  a 
canoe  has  about  as  hard  a  time  with  wind  as  he  would 
on  the  water,  no  matter  how  strong  he  is.  This  canoe 
was  built  by  Robertson,  at  Riverside,  and  was  the  one 
which,  in  1910,  weighing  only  fifty-six  pounds  herself, 
carried  about  nine  hundred  pounds  through  the  twenty 
lakes  from  George  river  to  the  Assiwaban,  and  this 
in  her  third  season  of  service. 

The  gun  was  a  double  one,  six  pounds,  twenty  bore 
left  and  38.55  right,  giving  sixteen  hundred  feet  veloc- 
ity.    It  was  most  convenient  for  picking  up  a  living, 


ASSIWABAN   RIVER,   FROM   WEST   OF   HIGH   PORTAGE 


A  MOSQUITO  DAY.     DR.  HOWE  IN   1910 


1906  191 

besides  taking  apart  easily  and  going  readily  into  a 
pack  bag  out  of  the  way  and  out  of  the  rain.  More- 
over, it  is  worth  something  to  be  able  to  see  through 
a  gun  from  the  breech,  which  one  cannot  do  with  many 
repeaters.  What  is  more,  a  double  gun  is  almost 
sure  to  be  in  order,  one  side  of  it  or  the  other,  being 
in  this  as  good  as  two  guns,  while  repeaters  generally 
balk  sooner  or  later. 

For  the  first  time  I  had  a  round  tent,  of  "  balloon 
silk/'  weighing  four  pounds  or  so;  a  good  shape  to 
stand  wind,  and  requiring  only  one  pole. 

A  four  by  five  inch  folding  camera,  with  a  beau- 
tiful split  Zeiss  lens,  was  partly  spoilt  by  an  over- 
strong  shutter,  expensive  at  that,  which  took  to  going 
off  hard  and  putting  the  light  camera  into  convulsions 
when  it  did,  though  in  ordinary  snaps  the  lens  was  able 
to  show  something  of  its  quality.  I  had  a  luxurious 
white  Hudson's  Bay  Company  blanket,  a  bit  heavy, 
but  taking  little  care.  The  best  thing  of  all  was  an 
F.  S.  H.  matchbox,  of  which  more  anon.  Fire,  when 
really  needed,  is  all  the  world  to  one.  Altogether  the 
outfit  was  about  as  good  as  ever  was,  and  not  much  to 
be  bettered  unless  by  bow-facing  oars  for  salt-water 
work. 

As  already  told,  my  objective  was  Indians.  I  had 
come  back  from  the  North  the  year  before  a  good  deal 
lighted  with  the  pleasant  association  Quackenbush  and 
I  had  had  with  the  little  party  of  them  who  had  taken 
us  over  the  height  of  land  to  Mistinipi  and  asked  us 
to  visit  them.  They  were  a  people  in  the  primitive 
hunter  stage.  Nowhere  else,  perhaps,  was  the  like  of 
these  Indians  to  be  found,  a  little  group  of  a  race 


192  Labrador 

high  in  personality,  yet  living  substantially  in  the  pre- 
Columbian  age  of  the  continent.  If  they  had  guns 
and  kettles  and  knives,  if  they  sold  fur  and  bought  new 
conveniences,  these  changed  little  the  essential  life. 
They  knew  no  language  but  their  own;  they  had 
plural  wives;  they  lived  wholly  on  meat  and  fish; 
they  used  no  salt.  The  clothing  and  lodges  were 
mainly  of  skins.  They  lived  under  their  own  law, 
in  their  old  faith  unchanged. 

They  would  be  late  coming  out,  it  appeared,  and 
after  some  casting  about  I  turned  to  a  part  Indian 
known  as  Old  Edward  and  his  family  of  grown  sons 
to  get  me  inland.  Whether,  coming  on  the  coast  alone 
after  what  experience  I  had  had,  I  deserved  to  find 
help  at  all  may  be  doubted.  Something  hangs  over 
the  shore  people  in  the  matter  of  going  inland,  and 
this  I  had  known.  Old  E.'s  people  were  another  sort, 
were  bred  to  the  Indian  life  and  promised  well,  but 
there  is  still  a  tale  to  be  told,  as  will  appear.  Old  E.'s 
father,  a  Scotch  Cree,  had  drifted  "  across  land,"  to 
this  coast  from  Hudson's  Bay,  and  married  an  Eskimo 
woman.  But  although  E.  was  thus  half  Eskimo  and 
quarter  white  he  was  brought  up  an  Indian  and  had 
lived  for  many  years  about  the  Michikamau  height  of 
land  where  he  was  born.  His  sons  were  something 
more  than  half  Indian.  E.  himself  had  his  share  of 
the  indirectness  common  in  light  and  dark  race  mix- 
tures, though  intelligent  and  of  some  personality.  He 
was  sixty- four  years  old  and  pretty  well  done  with  the 
trail  himself.  The  whole  family,  nearly,  were  at  Ope- 
tik  above  William  Edmunds's.  Two  or  three  of  the 
sons  were  married ;  the  whole  group  must  have  counted 
twenty  persons. 


1906  193 

Race  mixture,  of  course,  gives  various  results,  and 
in  the  northeast  there  are  few  examples  of  the  Indian- 
Eskimo  strain.  The  only  other  one  I  have  heard  of 
was  at  Chimo,  and  the  result  of  the  combination  was 
not  for  the  best.  The  man  in  that  case,  however,  was 
weak  in  constitution.  But  if  the  E.  family  are  to  be 
taken  as  a  type  it  is  to  be  hoped  that  either  the  two 
races  will  continue  on  two  sides  of  the  fence,  as  at 
present,  or  go  away  somewhere  until  the  new  combina- 
tion has  had  a  few  generations  in  which  to  get  its 
bearings.  As  E.  remarked,  dubiously,  when  the  mat- 
ter of  a  trip  came  up.  "  They  are  pretty  high  strung 
for  you."  They  were,  as  was  shown  by  a  handsome 
black  eye  E.  had  when  I  came  along  later.  It  appeared 
that  one  of  the  boys  had  been  holding  forth  upon  a 
plan  of  his  for  looting  Davis  Inlet  post.  The  father 
remonstrated  and  said  he  ought  not  to  talk  that  way, 
whereupon  the  young  dutiful  pitched  in  and  left  his 
mark.  From  the  St.  Lawrence  to  Chimo  there  is 
trouble  wherever  the  older  boys  turn  up,  but  this  I 
did  not  know  until  too  late. 

It  seemed  that  William  Edmunds's  was  the  place 
to  go  to,  and  George  Lane  and  I  worked  our  way  up 
there  in  his  boat,  sailing,  rowing,  and  sculling  as  shore 
trips  generally  go,  and  worrying  for  some  time  with 
wind  tails  from  all  ways  in  the  usual  place  near  Jim 
Lane's.  We  found  Jim  dismantling  his  house  to  move 
to  Lane's  Bay  and  take  up  his  father's  place  there, 
where  I  found  him  later  in  the  summer.  The  place 
had  fallen  to  him  as  the  oldest  son.  His  father  and 
mother,  with  a  boy,  had  perished  in  a  storm  in  the 
early  spring.  The  snow  leveled  them  over  at  the 
time,  and  it  was  only  just  as  I  same  upon  the  coast 


194  Labrador 

that  they  were  found;  indeed  it  was  George  and  I 
who  carried  this  serious  news  to  Jim. 

At  William's  I  was  tied  up  two  or  three  days  by 
various  kinds  of  weather,  and  my  diary  shows  the 
drift  of  things: 

"  Lane  went  off  this  morning.  Raining  in  showers, 
and  delayed  going  up  to  Edward's,  he  is  five  miles 
above.  A  poor  night,  on  the  floor  —  mosquitoes,  cats, 
dogs,  the  baby,  and  drip  from  rain  over  the  floor,  in 
conspiracy.  Fishing  not  good,  and  W.  thinks  he 
might  like  to  go  inland  with  me ;  should  prefer  one  of 
the  E.'s  if  possible  to  get  one.  William  reports  that 
the  older  Naskapi  are  going  to  Chimo,  on  Ungava 
Bay,  that  they  go  there  to  trade  because  they  do  not 
like  the  way  of  the  post  here.  The  E.'s  get  along  well 
here,  but  do  not  like  my  old  friend  Cotter,  now  at 
Chimo ;  he  knocked  old  E.  down  once  for  some  cause, 
and  Indians  do  not  forget  such  things.  It  seems  the 
Naskapi  have  thought  I  might  be  going  to  set  up  a 
trading  post  inland,  and  it  rather  appears  I  should 
have  their  trade.  Some  of  the  younger  men  are  com- 
ing out  here,  but  probably  not  before  August  12th  or 
so,  so  as  to  give  the  Pelican  time  to  get  in.  This  is 
too  much  time  to  lose,  it  is  only  July  24th  now,  I  can- 
not see  how  to  lay  out  my  time. 

"  Clear  to-night  with  northwest  wind.  The  sea 
trout  are  holding  out,  also  the  fresh  water  trout  that 
now  and  then  come  with  them ;  these  are  known  as 
1  hard  head  '  trout  here.  Whitefish  are  coming  in  too, 
of  about  two  pounds ;  are  found  in  all  the  neighboring 
lakes.  They  are  not  quite  up  to  the  southern-slope 
ones,  but  sometimes  they  get  large  ones,  the  '  master 
fish,'  which  are  better. 


1906  195 

"  W.  says  there  is  usually  five  or  six  feet  of  snow 
in  the  woods  here  in  winter.  He  regards  fall  caribou 
skins  as  the  best  for  snowshoes.  A  pair  he  had  tight- 
ened when  wet  until  they  destroyed  the  bows. 

"July  25.  Northwest  gale.  Not  worth  while  to 
fight  my  way  around  the  point  to  E.'s.  No  salmon. 
By  nine  W.  came  in  with  fifteen  or  twenty  trout  of 
three  pounds.  While  the  fish  are  being  cleaned  the 
dogs  sit  in  a  row  at  a  little  distance,  lined  up  like 
sprinters  ready  for  the  word,  until  all  the  fish  are  clone 
and  W.  speaks,  when  they  rush  in  and  gulp  the  heads 
and  other  leavings. 

"  To-day  I  was  alarmed  for  the  two  year  old  boy, 
who  was  actively  kicking  an  old  dog  as  he  lay  in  the 
sun.  The  dog  stood  it  awhile,  then  carefully  put  out 
a  big  paw  and  pushed  the  boy  gently  away  without 
upsetting  him.  The  dogs  do  not  touch  the  low-hung 
whitefish  drying  outside  the  house,  Mrs.  E.  said;  the 
young  ones  may,  but  not  the  others,  even  if  the  family 
are  away  all  day. 

"  W.  says  there  are  a  good  many  wolves  about  in 
winter;  what  they  get  are  mostly  shot,  some  trapped. 
They  are  never  dangerous,  are  '  slinkers.'  Near  Nain 
a  few  years  ago  they  were  passing  for  three  days  in 
swarms,  '  like  the  deer.'  They  are  larger  in  every 
way  than  his  dogs,  say  a  hundred  pounds  or  more. 
He  has  seen  one  especially  large  track;  his  own  foot 
just  filled  it.  There  are  no  fisher  about  that  he  knows 
of. 

"A  great  bear  track  (barren  ground  bear?)  had 
been  see  within  a  year  between  here  and  Nain,  and 
more  than  once.  Was  ugly,  knocked  a  tent  down. 
I  asked  W.  to  save  the  skin  complete  if  such  a  bear 


196  Labrador 

was  killed.  This  bear  story  is  to  be  taken  with  cau- 
tion; any  large  bear  track  would  be  stimulating  to 
the  Eskimo  imagination.  W.  shot  at  a  seal  just  now 
—  a  very  high  miss. 

"  26th.  W.  and  I  started  for  E.'s  on  the  tide,  at 
8.30.  Stiff  northwest  wind.  W.,  who  started  off  a 
novice  and  sitting  obstinately  high,  though  the  water 
was  rough,  was  glad  to  get  down  on  his  knees  after 
a  little,  as  low  as  he  could." 

Old  E.  had  his  camp  on  the  north  side  of  the  river 
(the  Notaquanon),  with  three  sons  and  their  families 
not  far  away.  He  had  heard  of  me,  we  settled  down 
comfortably,  and  he  held  forth:  He  thought  one  or 
two  of  the  boys  would  like  to  go  with  me  —  but  they 
ought  to  have  good  pay.  I  was  a  wealthy  man,  and 
it  would  not  matter  to  me  how  much  I  paid.  I  ought 
to  pay  whatever  they  asked.  Was  I  really  going  into 
fur  trading?  The  Naskapi  had  almost  convinced  them- 
selves that  I  was  looking  up  a  place  for  a  trading  post. 
It  would  be  better  for  me  to  set  up  on  his  river,  the 
Notaquanon  ("Place  where  you  hunt  porcupines"), 
rather  than  on  theirs.  Was  I  quite  sure  that  I  was 
not  connected  with  the  French  company?  I  must  be. 
How  could  a  wealthy  person  like  me,  who  could  stay 
at  home  and  live  as  he  liked,  come  up  into  the  flies 
and  hard  country  unless  he  had  something  to  make 
by  it?  No  matter  what  I  said  as  to  this,  the  old  man's 
incredulous  smile  never  quite  disappeared.  In  truth, 
with  the  passing  of  his  best  years  he  felt  the  burden 
of  his  irresponsible  family  very  seriously;  it  was  no 
wonder  that  he  could  not  take  my  vacation  point  of 
view.  The  Naskapi,  he  could  tell  me,  were  hardly  the 
best  sort  of  people.     They  were  friends  to  your  face, 


MISTINIPI 


THE  WHITE  MOSS  HILLS,  NEAR  MISTINIPI 


1906  197 

but  not  behind  your  back.  They  wanted  the  southern 
Indians  to  come  and  hunt  with  them,  but  they  (E. 
considering  himself  one  of  them)  did  not  care  to.  He 
needed  a  good  canoe  very  much  (after  looking  at 
mine).  The  company  had  not  treated  him  well.  They 
ought  to  bring  a  priest  to  the  coast ;  it  was  a  very  bad 
thing  that  they  would  not. 

Talk  of  the  coast  and  people  followed,  and  it  ap- 
peared that  few  of  the  people  were  just  as  they  should 
be.  As  to  the  southern  Indians,  who  hunted  beyond 
the  river  toward  the  George,  they  were  an  ungrateful 
lot.  He,  E.,  had  killed  a  great  deal  of  meat  and 
given  it  to  them  without  asking  anything,  but  they 
had  no  appreciation. 

Yet  the  old  fellow  was  pleasant  to  talk  with.  How 
he  had  kept  his  English  so  perfectly  good  is  hard  to 
see,  for  none  of  his  family  use  it  in  a  way  worth 
mentioning.  He  had  waded  across  the  river  and  shot 
a  fine  black  bear  that  day;  we  had  a  good  meal  of  it. 
They  had  killed  five  among  them  lately,  boys  and 
all.  Only  the  day  before  two  of  the  smaller  boys  had 
come  upon  a  polar  bear  swimming  in  the  river,  but  did 
not  dare  to  shoot  at  it.  Indians  in  general  are  afraid 
of  these  bears.  On  the  other  hand,  Eskimo,  who  are 
fearless  with  the  white  bear  on  almost  any  terms,  are 
quite  timid  about  the  inoffensive  black  bear;  to 
Eskimo  eyes  the  shadow  of  the  inland  is  upon  all  its 
creatures. 

Trout  and  salmon  nets  were  set  in  an  eddy  below 
the  camp.  A  fine  fifteen-pound  fish  came  in  while 
we  were  there  and  some  large  trout,  up  to  seven 
pounds.  They  were  living  well,  indeed,  though  with- 
out caribou.     E.  thought  these  were  as  numerous  as 


200  Labrador 

scattering  tracks,  and  one  small  bear  track,  but  little 
visible  life.  Three  Canada  jays  chortled  about  a  pond 
and  some  ptarmigan  were  laughing  along  the  brook 
at  dark.  The  main  stream  we  came  up  is  called  by 
the  Indians  Barren  ground  river,  as  is  the  great  George 
river  beyond  the  height  of  land.  At  night  came  more 
mosquitoes,  going  far  toward  eating  up  the  boys,  who 
had  only  one  piece  of  netting  between  them  and  could 
not  keep  it  snug.  They  were  sleepless  and  uneasy.  I 
was  better  off,  having  a  whole  piece  of  netting  to  my- 
self, but  the  closed  tent  was  airless.  I  had  put  on  some 
tar  grease  in  the  afternoon,  but  thought  that  even 
without  it  the  enemy  really  liked  the  others  best,  though 
I  was  marked  well  under  my  shirt  by  black  flies  dur- 
ing the  day.  After  midnight,  alarmed  lest  their  tribu- 
lations drive  my  crew  into  the  idea  of  giving  up  the 
trip,  I  spent  two  hours  sewing  a  netting  front  into  the 
door  of  the  tent,  and  with  more  air  and  no  flies  the 
night  finished  out  well. 

The  30th  was  hot  and  thundery,  with  showers.  I 
had  a  lesson  about  putting  out  fires,  being  the  last  to 
leave  the  luncheon  place.  Looking  back  from  some 
way  on,  the  haze  down  the  valley  seemed  smoky,  and 
the  boys  asked  me  if  I  had  surely  put  out  the  fire, 
"  put  water  on  it."  I  had  not,  and  as  it  was  on  naked 
ground  and  virtually  out  would  have  taken  what 
chances  there  were,  myself.  Not  so  the  Indians. 
Young  E.  ran  back,  quite  a  way,  to  make  sure.  Luck- 
ily he  found  the  fire  out. 

Before  long  we  departed  from  my  old  route  and 
turned  west  two  or  three  miles  across  a  lake  I  had 
visited  in  1903,  but  not  traversed.  A  long  portage  to 
Side  brook,  a  short  run  upstream,  and  a  portage  across 


1906  201 

a  lightly  timbered  plain  brought  us  out  on  the  Assi- 
waban  some  three  or  four  miles  above  the  falls.  Lux- 
urious travel  this,  and  fast,  for  I  went  only  once  over 
the  portages  myself,  and  the  boys  were  quick  in  bring- 
ing up  the  second  load. 

I  had  left  my  rod  at  William's,  so  made  up  a  good- 
sized  salmon  fly  to  a  short  line  and  a  dry  stick,  and 
in  the  twilight  slapped  —  literally  —  the  water  for  fish. 
In  a  short  time  I  had  ten,  of  about  one  and  a  half 
pounds.  The  big  hook  let  nothing  go.  This  night  we 
slept.  As  on  the  night  before,  the  aurora  was  fine, 
particularly  in  its  showy  latitudinal  bands. 

We  made  great  time  up  river,  shoving  over  the 
swift  shallows  with  three  paddles  and  using  a  towing 
line  at  only  one  place.  It  is  notable  that  the  Indians 
do  not  use  the  regular  setting  pole  on  this  river;  possi- 
bly there  is  little  poling  done  in  this  region  anywhere. 

A  bear  which  swam  the  river  in  the  afternoon,  after 
the  muskrat  fashion  of  his  kind,  cost  us  a  little  wasted 
time  looking  for  him  in  the  bushes  and  we  stopped  on 
the  wind  lake  near  the  outlet.  We  really  ought  to 
have  kept  on  through  the  lake  instead  of  camping,  it 
was  glassy  calm ;  but  the  dark  water  and  sky  ahead 
looked  so  strangely  shadowed  and  portentous,  as  if 
any  sort  of  a  downpour  and  wind  convulsion  might 
break,  that  I  respected  the  misgivings  of  the  others, 
not  to  mention  my  own.  But  ominous  as  the  outlook 
was  nothing  unusual  occurred  after  all.  Whether  or 
not  we  had  broken  the  weather  rule — if  so  our  sin 
was  slight  as  things  looked  —  a  northwester  kept  us 
hopelessly  windbound  the  next  day.  We  climbed  a 
high  rock  hill  alongside  the  camp,  a  landmark  from 
far  down  the  river.     My  two  young  impudents  made 


202  Labrador 

the  occasion  a  race,  beating  me  handily,  both  of  them. 
Coming  down  they  tried  the  same  game,  but  this  was 
not  so  bad.  Young  E.  and  I  reached  camp  together, 
with  Matthew  well  behind.  Later  we  fell  to  making 
maps  on  the  sand,  a  hundred  feet  long,  and  discussed 
the  country  beyond. 

By  morning  the  wind  eased  and  things  were  better. 
I  stirred  the  camp  out  at  three,  and  we  reached  the 
upper  part  of  the  lake  on  calm  water.  Turning  across 
from  the  high  southern  cliffs  to  the  north  side  the 
wind  came  down  again  from  the  great  gap,  the  sea 
rose  fast.  We  were  all  anxious  before  we  got  over. 
The  distance  across  the  lake  looks  short,  but  is  de- 
ceptive. We  paddled  like  devils,  but  the  high  north 
wall  moved  away  as  we  went.  Toward  the  last  some 
water  came  in,  not  much,  but  in  that  worst  of  wind- 
funnels  anything  might  happen;  we  were  thankful 
to  get  over.  Then  came  a  hard,  wet  dance  getting 
up  the  shore,  just  such  as  Q.  and  I  had  had  the  year 
before,  and  as  then  we  hung  close  to  the  rocks,  slopping 
about  in  their  backwash  for  miles.  Young  E.  was  un- 
happy; he  had  been  moody  ever  since  we  reached  the 
lake.  The  place  is  bad  enough  anyway,  and  to  a  per- 
son brought  up  in  fear  of  rock  demons  and  the  under- 
water people,  it  is  easily  no  place  to  be  in  in  a  wind.  At 
the  time  I  did  not  know  much  about  these  ruling  pow- 
ers of  the  place,  and  considered  E.  merely  water  timid, 
which  with  all  allowance  he  doubtless  was.  It  is  fair 
to  say  that  he  somewhat  distrusted  the  very  light  and 
well-burdened  canoe. 

Once  out  of  the  lake  we  made  the  five  miles  to 
the  forks  and  camped  in  the  old  spot,  where  the  kettle 
stick  of   Q.   and  myself  was   still   in  place  over  the 


1906  203 

ashes  we  had  left.  On  the  way  we  watched  a  bear, 
high  up  on  the  side  of  the  valley ;  we  could  have  gone 
up  and  shot  him,  almost  surely,  but  the  bushes  were 
too  wet  to  be  pleasant,  and  as  he  soon  disappeared  over 
the  high  level,  a  long  climb,  we  did  not  follow. 

Showers  followed  until  night;  the  men  left  my 
sleeping  things  out,  and  with  wet  trousers  and  a  wet 
blanket  I  slept  cold,  as  did  E.  too.  The  hardbread 
gave  out,  an  inconvenient  matter  here,  and  we  had  to 
take  up  flour;  it  developed  that  E.  did  not  know  how 
to  cook  it. 

An  episode  of  the  next  day,  August  2,  changed  the 
face  of  my  affairs  suddenly,  to  the  extent  of  putting 
back  my  visit  to  the  high  barrens  for  a  month.  As 
we  put  out  from  the  eddy  into  the  stream  a  vicious 
gust  rocked  the  canoe,  and  E.  urged  that  it  was  too 
windy  to  go.  Such  a  thing  as  being  windbound  on 
a  small  running  river  was  a  new  idea  to  me,  and  I  held 
him  to  it  awhile  accordingly.  He  had  been  timid  about 
wind  throughout;  I  had  reflected  often  upon  the  com- 
parative dash  of  the  Naskapi.  We  worked  along 
slowly  a  half  mile,  keeping  close  to  the  bank  out  of 
the  current,  when  E.  complained  that  it  was  too  hard, 
and  we  landed  for  a  time,  watching  the  wind  and 
making  sand  maps.  After  an  hour  of  this  E.  pro- 
posed that  we  abandon  the  river  and  take  the  Indian 
land  trail  from  the  forks;  he  said  he  could  neither 
paddle  nor  pole,  he  was  used  up.  I  consented,  and 
we  dropped  back.  From  the  forks  the  two  started 
ahead  with  packs  while  I  waited  to  come  in  on  the 
second  turn,  and  while  they  were  gone  I  thought  things 
over.  The  new  plan  seemed  doubtful.  We  could  be 
windbound  on  the  barrens  as  well  as  on  the  water. 


204  Labrador 

With  the  double  portaging  necessary  it  would  take 
forty  or  fifty  miles  of  walking  to  get  even  as  far  as 
the  high  portage,  and  much  more  time  than  by  water. 
When  the  two  came  back  I  spoke  of  the  matter,  and 
E.,  who  now  protested  that  he  was  "  akushu,"  sick, 
said  that  he  did  not  intend  to  go  to  George  River 
anyway.  We  were  now  taking  the  chance  of  missing 
the  Naskapi  on  the  river,  for  they  come  out  that  way, 
besides,  if  not  so  important,  of  seeing  no  new  country. 
I  said  that  if  he  was  not  going  to  Tshinutivish  I  pre- 
ferred to  keep  the  river,  and  we  would  better  bring 
the  packs  back.  I  offered  to  pole  up  the  river  slowly, 
and  let  him  walk  the  bank;  and  he  not  being  well  I 
would  go  up  the  hill  and  bring  back  his  pack  myself. 
Not  much  was  said,  and  I  started  off  for  the  packs 
with  the  boy,  leaving  young  E.  to  get  luncheon.  I  re- 
turned slowly,  to  give  time  for  the  cooking,  letting  the 
boy  reach  camp  some  time  ahead.  When  I  got  back 
nothing  had  been  done  toward  luncheon,  and  E.  was 
evidently  in  a  rage.  He  announced  that  he  was  go- 
ing home  at  once.  Talk  followed;  but  the  amount 
of  it  was,  on  his  part,  that  he  demanded  to  be  taken 
home  in  the  canoe.  He  would  have  gone  to  Tshinu- 
tivish by  the  hill,  he  said,  if  I  had  kept  to  that  route; 
he  was  not  sick  except  for  paddling  and  poling.  Now 
he  was  going  home  afoot  anyway.  I  offered  to  go 
over  the  hill  if  he  must,  but  he  wouldn't  now.  I  urged 
him  to  stay  until  morning,  then  we  would  talk  it  over 
and  do  the  best  thing.  I  insisted  that  they  take  pro- 
visions, pointing  out  that  I  couldn't  possibly  use  what 
I  had.  I  offered  to  take  them  across  the  river  in  the 
canoe  —  we  were  between  the  forks  —  if  they  must 
go.     Everything  I  urged  only  made  him  worse.     If  I 


NAHPAYO,  PAKUUNNOH,  AH-PE-WAT,   1906 


FROM  THE  HIGH  PORTAGE 


1906  205 

had  asked  him  not  to  knock  his  head  against  a  rock 
it  seemed  as  if  he  would  have  gone  and  done  it  at  once. 
At  the  shore  I  learned,  later,  that  he  was  known  by 
these  blind  rages,  which  would  last  some  hours.  After 
they  were  over  he  would  be  ashamed  and  apologetic. 

We  were  at  it  with  signs,  questions,  bad  Indian 
speech  and  English  on  my  part  —  signs,  strong  talk, 
and  hopping  about  and  good  Indian  on  his.  Any 
white  man  as  mad  as  he  would  have  done  something; 
any  traveler  in  the  presence  of  such  a  manifestation 
as  E.'s  would  have  kept  his  feet  under  him  and  stayed 
between  the  Indian  and  the  gun  as  I  did.  E.  would 
have  been  nothing  to  deal  with  at  arm's  length,  but 
strong,  quick  little  Matthew  would  have  made  him- 
self felt  somehow. 

At  last,  while  I  was  looking  into  my  dictionary 
for  words  to  go  on  with  they  started  away,  and  when 
I  looked  up  again  to  speak  they  were  some  way  off 
disappearing  among  the  trees.  They  had  five  or  six 
rations  of  eatables  which  I  had  pressed  upon  them, 
that  amount  being  at  hand  in  a  bag  we  had  intended 
to  leave  at  the  forks  as  a  cache. 

Things  had  gone  pretty  fast,  and  I  sat  for  an  hour 
on  the  river  bank,  elbows  on  knees  and  chin  in  hands. 
It  was  not  too  obvious  what  to  do.  The  Indians 
should  come  along  in  five  or  six  days,  perhaps  sooner ; 
they  passed  the  forks  at  just  this  time  the  year  be- 
fore. There  was  not  much  point  in  going  on  alone; 
it  would  be  hard  and  slow,  and  even  if  I  met  the  In- 
dians would  involve  ten  or  twelve  days  of  solitude, 
while  their  companionability  after  seeing  the  E.'s  at 
the  shore  would  be  unsafe  to  depend  on.  Old  E.  had 
shown  disapproval  when  I  spoke  of  wanting  to  see  the 


206  Labrador 

Naskapi,  losing  no  chance  to  depreciate  them,  and 
lately  I  had  had  an  impression  that  the  young  men  too 
did  not  want  me  to  meet  them.  They  were  safe  to 
make  all  the  trouble  they  could.  Finally  I  decided  to 
go  back  to  the  post,  get  my  mail,  and  if  circumstances 
allowed,  to  come  back  inland  with  the  Indians.  In  an 
hour  or  two  I  had  a  rowing  frame  and  oars  roughed 
out  against  need  in  getting  through  the  lakes  if  they 
were  windy,  got  the  tent  up  handily,  the  stakes  being  al- 
ready in,  and  turned  in  later  as  the  moon  rose.  The 
canoe  I  put  close  outside  the  tent,  though  there  was 
little  chance  of  the  deserters  trying  to  take  it.  Once 
in  a  while  through  the  night  I  looked  out,  but  the  boat 
was  always  there  in  the  moonlight. 

My  idea  of  the  situation  was  that  E.  was  homesick, 
timid,  and  out  of  tune  with  the  enterprise  when  we  ar- 
rived at  the  forks.  Yet  he  might  not  have  let  himself 
get  out  of  hand  as  he  did  if  a  new  circumstance  had 
not  been  added.  This  was  the  discovery  that  caribou 
were  moving  in  the  country  beyond.  They  had  noted, 
what  missed  me,  that  there  were  deer  hairs  washed  up 
along  the  banks  of  the  river,  shed  while  the  animals 
were  crossing  the  stream  above.  At  midsummer  the 
winter  hair  is  falling  off,  and  sometimes  washes  up 
in  quantity  along  the  shores,  as  Mrs.  Hubbard  found 
it  the  year  before  on  the  upper  George  while  the  great 
migration  was  passing.  Besides,  there  were  deer 
tracks  on  the  hill  where  Matthew  and  I  had  gone  for 
the  packs.  The  boy  went  cautiously  on  from  the 
packs  to  the  crest  of  the  ridge  and  looked  long  over 
the  barrens,  saying  "  Ah'tif," 1  "  Scattering  deer 
about."  Now  the  southern  Indians  had  had  no  deer 
1  Ah-teef . 


1906  207 

for  two  years,  and  were  shortened  for  meat  as  well 
as  skins  for  clothes,  lodges,  and  snowshoes.  The  men 
must  get  back,  make  canoes  and  get  their  outfits,  and 
go  with  their  families  to  their  hunting  grounds. 

The  boy  had  reached  camp  first  and  reported,  while 
I  rested  along  by  the  way,  not  caring  to  get  in  before 
luncheon  was  ready,  and  by  the  time  I  came  in  E.  was 
worked  up  to  his  uncontrollable  stage.  If  we  had  been 
able  to  talk  freely  together  things  would  have  come 
out  better.  As  it  was,  but  for  E.'s  peculiarity  of  tem- 
per the  breakup  would  hardly  have  occurred.  Still,  I 
doubt  his  going  far  in  any  case.  My  notion  of  keep- 
ing to  the  river  on  account  of  meeting  the  northern 
Indians  was  justified,  for  they  came  down  the  very 
next  day,  close  behind  me. 

At  three  in  the  morning  I  turned  out,  and  in  an  hour 
was  off.  Then  followed  one  of  those  days  when  the 
homing  instinct  is  free  and  opportunity  serves.  I  am 
not  sure  that  I  made  a  wise  expenditure  of  strength 
that  day,  for  there  was  no  real  need  of  pushing,  but 
save  for  a  few  moments  the  canoe  moved  steadily  until 
six  o'clock  —  fourteen  hours.  In  front  of  me  on  a 
pack  was  a  cup,  some  dry  pea-meal  ration,  a  pipe,  to- 
bacco, and  matches.  The  morning  was  calm  and  fine. 
On  a  point  in  the  wind  lake  I  landed  long  enough  to 
take  aboard  a  stick  or  two  for  rigging  a  sail,  but  kept 
on  by  paddle,  swinging  away  as  the  hours  went  and 
losing  few  strokes  through  the  day.  At  the  foot  of  the 
Natua-ashish  I  pitched  the  unused  oars  and  frame 
sticks  into  the  bushes,  where  we  found  them  in  1910. 
Save  at  that  place  I  did  not  stop.  It  cost  only  the  time 
of  a  stroke  to  light  a  match,  or  take  a  swallow  of  water 
or  a  mouthful  to  eat,  and  so  the  day  went.     Wind 


208  Labrador 

came  strong  ahead  the  last  miles  to  the  falls,  and  I  had 
to  use  strength,  but  kept  moving.  At  six,  by  the 
sun,  I  was  at  the  portage.  I  had  not  hurried,  but 
fourteen  hours  of  continuous  paddling  is  a  long  shift. 
It  had  been  good  weather  for  traveling,  and  I  had  in 
mind  the  feebleness  of  a  single  paddle  when  weather 
goes  wrong.  But  by  keeping  the  rule  of  using  good 
weather  as  it  passes  I  had  missed  the  Indians,  and  per- 
haps a  moral  lies  here. 

I  boiled  the  kettle  above  the  falls  and  meant  to 
camp,  but  after  supper  the  call  of  the  trail  was  not 
spent  and  I  took  a  pack  over  the  portage,  then  another, 
then  the  canoe.  When  I  picked  up  the  fourth  load  it 
was  getting  dark  and  beginning  to  rain.  By  the  time 
I  had  dropped  down  river  two  or  three  miles  almost 
utter  darkness  set  in  and  a  breeze  came  from  ahead 
with  real  rain.  Then,  remarking  to  the  place  gener- 
all,  for  we  all  talk  a  little  when  alone  on  the  trail, 
"  This  is  not  traveling  weather  " —  I  turned  over  the 
canoe  on  a  tolerable  mossy  shelf,  boiled  a  final  kettle, 
and  slept  as  I  could.  It  was  toward  midnight.  I 
had  tucked  away  some  fifty  miles,  including  the  por- 
taging. 

At  five  I  was  off  again,  keen  to  be  over  the  wider 
waters  before  wind  should  rise,  and  I  was  none  too 
soon.  Following  the  rain  a  strong  northwester  was 
pushing  down,  and  I  drove  straight  north  across  the 
bay  to  meet  it,  so  as  to  have  the  weather  gage  on  a  long 
point  east.  By  the  time  the  water  whitened  up  I  had 
offing  enough,  came  about,  and  danced  down  for  Vois- 
ey's  with  hands  full  to  keep  from  broaching  to  as  the 
balky  canoe  yawed  to  right  and  left.  There  is  a  curi- 
ous flat  rock  or  shoal  somewhere  toward  Voisey's,  un- 


1906  209 

der  water.  The  tide  was  coming  up  and  the  wind  go- 
ing down,  in  such  balance  that  once  over  the  shoal  I 
could  not  go  forward  or  back,  and  felt  curiously  help- 
less. I  was  afraid  of  being  pitched  out,  but  managed 
to  work  off  sidewrays  and  get  to  going  again.  The 
place  amounts  to  a  trap. 

Sitting  near  the  end  of  a  light  canoe  there  is  always 
some  chance  of  being  jumped  overboard  in  broken 
water,  and  besides,  even  when  one  is  rowing,  there  is 
the  possibility  of  being  caught  broadside  by  a  gust  as 
the  canoe  shoots  out  upon  the  wave  and  blown  actually 
out  of  water.  About  high  shores,  when  squalls  are 
strong,  this  might  well  happen.  A  compliment  to  a 
good  steersman  in  the  north  is,  "  He  can't  be  thrown 
out,"  but  this  relates  chiefly  to  running  rapids. 

The  last  run,  through  the  backwash  of  the  steep 
point  outside  Voisey's  house,  was  as  much  of  a  jump- 
ing matter  as  I  remember,  but  the  canoe  blew  on 
through  to  shallow  water  behind  the  point  and  I  hopped 
overboard  without  harm  from  the  boulders.  It  was 
no  joke  to  get  the  canoe  from  the  w7ater  to  the  lee  of 
a  large  boulder  near,  in  the  strong  wind.  I  tried 
many  times  before  succeeding. 

Yoisey  was  just  ready  to  start  off  somewhere  with 
his  family,  but  was  willing  to  help  me.  This  was  a 
narrow  escape  from  having  to  work  my  own  way  down 
the  coast  without  oars.  If  I  had  been  twenty  minutes 
later  m  getting  out  of  camp  in  the  morning  I  should 
have  been  windbound,  and  he  would  have  been  gone, 
lie  was  only  waiting  for  the  wind  to  let  down.  The 
moral  as  to  using  one's  weather  was  very  easy  to  draw 
that  year;  we  rarely  had  more  than  one  day  of  calm  at 
a  time,  and  bad  weather  held  on  longer  than  good. 


210  Labrador 

The  wind  blew  down  rather  quickly,  and  Voisey 
handed  me  over  to  the  Un'sekat  people  that  night. 
There  were  several  strange  Eskimo  there  with  the 
Noahs.  The  little  house  had  been  enlarged  on  one 
side,  but  there  were  eleven  of  us,  with  a  going  cook 
stove.  It  was  very  warm  weather,  and  the  place  was 
well  battened  against  flies.  I  was  politely  given  a  place 
next  the  wall  and  room  to  stretch  out  in,  the  others 
lying  more  or  less  across  one  another.  Of  close  places 
I  have  known  it  was  one  of  the  least  to  be  recom- 
mended. We  had  about  ninety  cubic  feet  of  air  apiece. 
Some  one  remarked  in  the  morning  that  it  had  been 
"  warm  "  in  there. 

Antone  and  a  young  friend  named  Poy  took  me 
down  to  the  post.  Poy,  otherwise  Boaz,  was  the  best 
hunter  in  Nain,  and  withal  rather  shy  and  hard  to 
photograph.  I  was  to  meet  him  once  again  that  year 
after  a  more  serious  experience. 

Wind  failed  and  we  opened  Daniel's  winter  house  for 
the  night,  where  mosquitoes  were  as  thick  inside  as  out. 
At  seven  on  the  6th  we  were  at  the  post,  and  I  told 
my  tale.  Guy  said  the  E.  boys  were  a  lot  of  crooks 
anyway. 

Rather  early  on  the  7th  in  came  old  and  young  E. 
and  their  families  and  six  Naskapi.  Three  of  the 
latter  were  old  acquaintances,  Ostinitsu,  Nahpayo,  and 
Pakuunnoh,  and  the  other  three  I  knew  also  from  1903. 
The  younger  men  were  extremely  friendly,  asking, 
"  Now  will  you  go  with  us  ?  "  I  could  not  be  sure  un- 
til I  had  seen  my  mail. 

Old  Ostinitsu  looked  more  thoughtful.  E.  would 
naturally  have  told  him  our  tale.  The  latter  tried  to 
put  on  severity  and  insisted  that  I  had  compelled  the 


ABRAM   AND    GEORGE   LANE 


SAM  BROMFIELD  WITH  SALMON,  1906 


1906  211 

boys  to  leave  me.  Their  story  was  that  I  had  threat- 
ened them  and  driven  them  from  camp  without  food, 
Matthew  being  nearly  barefoot;  if  they  had  not  been 
able  to  go  to  one  of  their  winter  places  they  might 
have  starved;  I  did  not  know  how  to  travel,  and  in- 
sisted on  going  the  wrong  way.  Of  course  young  E. 
insisted  this  was  the  truth,  but  in  time  things  eased  off. 
There  was  not  much  for  me  to  do  unless  with  my 
knuckles.  The  first  time  I  had  to  pass  some  of  the 
really  nice  E.  women,  who  had  done  me  so  well  at 
their  camp,  I  hated  to  do  it,  expecting  them  to  look 
scissors  at  least.  To  my  surprise,  and  I  must  say 
relief,  they  had  a  demure  look  of  something  near  ap- 
proval. The  truth  was  that  they  had  all  been  well 
scared  for  fear  of  consequences,  and  the  wives  doubt- 
less needed  no  light  on  their  husbands'  characters. 
It  might  have  been  better  in  the  long  run  if  I  had 
taken  steps  against  them,  or  at  least  threatened  them 
into  a  proper  state  of  mind.  But  I  could  not  look  for 
any  support  from  the  Hudson's  Bay  Company,  rather 
the  contrary,  and  a  magistrate  would  be  far  to  seek.  I 
kept  a  fairly  stiff  face. 

I  had  rather  a  good  time  for  a  few  days  with  the 
other  Indians,  who  seemed  to  think  that  the  E's  had 
come  out  rather  small.  Nahpayo  asked  me  if  I  came 
through  the  Natua-ashu  alone,  making  signs  of  pad- 
dling, and  all  looked  impressed.  They  themselves 
would  not  care  to;  it  is  when  alone  that  one  has  de- 
cidedly to  fear  the  demons  of  such  places.  Na'pao  told 
me  of  his  father,  Katshiuas,  whom  I  knew  in  1903, 
and  said  he  was  well.  In  the  spring  he  had  told  Guy 
that  he  thought  his  father  must  have  starved,  as  he  had 
not  heard  from  him  for  some  time. 


212  Labrador 

On  the  wharf  scales,  which  I  think  weigh  light, 
Na'pao  stood  at  one  hundred  and  forty  pounds.  He 
had  grown  to  be  a  handsome  fellow  the  last  year.  All 
his  party  looked  well,  a  matter  of  deer  supply.  Paku- 
unnoh  weighed  one  hundred  and  fifty-two  and  a 
younger  man  one  hundred  and  fifty- four.  We  all 
showed  off  with  the  fish  weights,  at  which  some  of  the 
younger  shore  people  outdid  the  Indians  and  appeared 
rather  well,  and  even  I  came  off  not  so  ill,  for  of  course 
they  were  all  unused  to  these  putting-up  trials.  The 
Naskapi  are  not  heavily  muscled,  though  everlasting 
on  the  trail.  After  the  show  was  over  I  reached  up 
to  the  top  of  the  weighing  frame,  pulled  myself  up 
with  one  arm  and  walked  off.  Looking  back  I  saw 
Nahpayo  go  up  slyly  and  try  it  himself.  I  caught 
his  eye,  shook  my  head  slightly,  and  he  looked  a  bit 
sheepish  as  he  failed. 

The  steamer  came  in  on  the  9th,  and  the  Indians 
were  off  within  a  day.  Toward  the  last  the  Indians' 
disposition  to  help  me  along  fell  off.  Earlier,  Nah- 
payo had  told  Guy  that  I  was  going  up  with  them. 
They  were  disappointed  that  I  was  not  going  to  set  up  a 
trading  post,  for  I  had  told  E.,  with  a  certain  impolicy, 
that  I  was  only  out  to  see  things,  and  the  old  man 
could  not  pass  by  an  opportunity  for  making  himself 
felt.  He  was  interpreter  for  the  Naskapi,  there  were 
some  relationships  among  the  wives,  and  though  they 
cared  little  for  him  personally,  in  matters  of  white 
man  against  Indian  they  would  take  his  side.  More- 
over, my  power  of  communication  with  them  was  too 
limited  to  be  effective  at  such  a  time.  Old  E.  was 
not  so  bad;  we  had  a  talk  in  which  he  said  the  boys 
were  sorry  for  what  they  had  done  and  would  like  to 


1906  213 

make  it  up.  Ostinitsu,  too,  civilly  told  me  where  their 
camp  was,  at  the  narrows  of  Mistinipi.  But  they  all 
fell  away  at  the  last,  and  an  Indian  says  no  disagree- 
ably. Nor  was  old  E.  then  sympathetic  over  the  re- 
sults of  his  genius  for  making  trouble.  His  part  had 
been  plain  to  predict.  As  a  friend  of  mine  among  the 
shore  people  said  afterward,  "  About  all  the  rows  along 
here  come  from  old  E." 

It  never  rains  but  it  pours.  Added  to  other  things 
I  had  had  no  mail  by  the  steamer.  "  Bad  news  travels 
fast  "  was  my  only  consolation.  For  a  time  I  was  at 
the  post,  then  Guy  and  I  went  over  to  Lane's  bay 
to  visit  Sam  Bromfield.  Meanwhile  I  picked  up  odds 
and  ends  from  the  people  about.  Discussing  Eskimo, 
Mrs.  Dicker,  long  intimate  with  the  coast,  said  they 
were  more  keen  than  Indians  to  get  whiskey  and  told 
of  their  shooting  through  a  house  from  outside  when 
drunk.  This  was  near  Rigolet.  Three  Eskimo  there 
had  some  gin,  got  to  fighting  in  a  boat,  and  all  were 
drowned.  They  were  worse  than  Indians  when  drink- 
ing. She  agreed  that  the  E.  boys  would  be  a  dan- 
gerous lot  if  they  had  drink;  and  old  E.  himself  said 
the  same.  The  E.'s  get  some  effect  from  spruce  beer. 
It  is  surprising  how  a  mere  trace  of  alcohol  affects  such 
people,  people  whose  race  has  never  had  it.  Mrs.  D. 
hadn't  much  fancy  for  Eskimo  women,  but  respected 
those  of  the  Indians.  The  women  of  the  E.  family 
certainly  seemed  good  people. 

Guy  and  I  had  a  stiff  time  getting  to  Sam  Brom- 
field's.  At  the  point  of  the  bay  the  swell  and  sea  from 
north  piled  up  against  the  outgoing  tide  in  a  heavy, 
broken  "  lop."  The  boat,  though  low,  would  have 
done  well  enough  reefed  down,  but  Guy  was  not  a 


214  Labrador 

reefer.  If  I  wanted  to  see  the  "  thing  that  couldn't  be 
done  "  on  salt  water,  I  should  get  into  a  boat  with  Guy 
and  Spracklin.  This  time  I  was  cold,  which  is  not 
good  for  one's  serenity  at  such  times.  It  was  a  sav- 
age, cold,  rainy  afternoon.  The  storm  brought  in 
many  gulls ;  thousands  of  kittiwakes  — "  ticklers  " — 
went  with  us  for  hours,  often  close  about.  Their 
white  droppings  were  like  a  beginning  snowstorm,  hit- 
ting the  boat  thirty  or  forty  times,  nor  did  we  ourselves 
wholly  escape.  Yagers,  sharp  winged  and  swallow 
built,  the  "  bo'suns  "  of  fishermen  and  hens  of  the 
French,  attacked  fiercely  the  larger  gulls,  which  were 
glad  to  abandon  their  sea  pickings.  These  hunter  gulls, 
as  graceful  as  fierce,  were  black  above,  with  white 
breasts  and  a  black  bar  across  the  neck. 

Sam  had  a  very  presentable  family.  We  all  talked 
endlessly  the  first  evening,  Sam  in  the  lead.  The  old 
violin  and  the  new  violin,  the  graphophone  and  the 
talk  went  on  long  into  the  night.  For  the  rest  of  the 
week  I  was  there  we  were  steady  enough,  but  Sam's 
first  fizz  is  of  high  pressure,  the  fun  is  good  anyway, 
and  there  is  nothing  for  it  but  to  turn  in  and  join. 

I  had  thought  of  bringing  a  graphophone  that  year, 
for  a  novelty,  but  it  would  have  been  coals  to  New- 
castle indeed.  There  were  no  less  than  seven  from  this 
bay  to  Shung-ho,  just  above  Davis  Inlet,  and  most  of 
the  talk  along  was  of  new  records,  chiefly  vaudeville 
songs  and  smart  dialogue.  Sam  had  one  hundred 
dollars'  worth  of  records,  yet  some  of  these  people  had 
hardly  enough  to  eat  in  winter.  I  could  not  blame 
them  much.  They  were  only  part  Eskimo,  the  blood 
of  the  gay  world  was  in  them  all.  Moreover,  the  bay 
life  was  not  what  it  had  formerly  been.     The  trees 


1906  215 

had  been  burned,  deer  no  longer  swarmed  from  the 
interior,  the  old  superabundance  of  sea  and  shore  game 
had  fallen  away ;  in  summer  the  waters  were  swept  by 
schooners  from  south.  The  life  had  been  good  while 
it  was  easy;  now  that  it  was  harder  the  things  of  the 
outer  world  brightened  to  them,  and  it  was  not  strange 
that  the  ragtime  tunes  gave  them  more  of  a  lift  than 
serious  music. 

The  speech  here  is,  I  suppose,  Devonshire.  Mrs. 
B.  said,  recounting  a  punishing  trip  of  the  family  from 
the  post  the  week  before,  "  By  the  time  we  had  he 
(Sam)  there  it  would  have  been  dark"  (if  the  wind 
had  failed).  All  use  the  nominative  thus,  and  the  ob- 
jective is  reversed  in  the  same  way,  as  in  the  classic  ex- 
ample of  certain  children  regarding  their  supposed 
mother,  "  she  don't  belong  to  us.  Her  don't  belong  to 
we." 

With  dogs  about  the  house  and  too  many  mosquitoes 
I  netted  windows  and  stopped  holes  smartly,  as  I  did 
in  most  houses  before  settling  down  —  to  little  result 
save  for  getting  the  netted  windows  open  for  air. 
Thorough  killings  in  the  evening  did  only  passing 
good.  In  the  end  I  won  by  banking  the  underpinning 
with  sand.     They  had  been  coming  in   from  below. 

Sam  talked  of  the  coast  northward.  The  Nach- 
vack  Eskimo  buried  their  more  important  people  high 
upon  a  rock  slope,  walling  them  in  and  putting  stone 
slabs  across.  All  personal  possessions  were  put  along- 
side, kayak,  utensils,  clothes,  and  the  needles  and  spe- 
cial things  of  the  women.  "  What  a  pity  to  put  a 
fine  kayak  there !  "  said  Sam.  Everything  is  dam- 
aged beyond  use  before  leaving.  Guns  are  put  out 
of  gear,  and  pots  have  holes  knocked  in  them.     Even 


216  Labrador 

now  the  older  men  put  meat  on  the  graves,  and  other 
observances  survive.  On  killing  seal  the  tip  of  the 
heart  and  liver  are  thrown  into  the  water.  Jim  Lane, 
who  used  to  hunt  at  Ungava,  still  does  it  "for  luck." 
Anywhere  along  the  bays  an  offering  in  time  of  storm 
or  for  hunting  luck  is  well  regarded.  The  Moravians, 
after  a  hundred  and  forty  years  of  striving,  say  they 
do  not  hope  to  suppress  these  ideas. 

During  the  whale  hunt  about  Nachvack  the  women 
and  children  must  remain  silent  and  motionless  while 
the  men  are  out.  On  one  occasion  a  mouse  ran  across 
the  floor,  a  child  ran  after  it,  and  the  whale  was  of 
course  lost. 

Sam  took  me  to  his  salmon  net,  some  eight  miles 
up.  After  the  blow  he  expected  twenty  fish,  but  there 
were  only  two,  besides  one  of  "  pele "  size,  four 
pounds,  and  a  large  red  sucker.  The  schooners  had 
cut  the  fish  off  outside.  Their  cod  traps  have  re- 
duced his  catch  to  a  tenth  of  what  it  used  to  be. 
Climbing  "  Summer-house  Hill  "  I  could  see  lakes  run- 
ning north  on  the  main  stream,  called  Hunt's  river, 
also  "  Grassy  lakes,"  off  west  and  south  toward  Hope- 
dale,  with  a  waste  of  burnt  country  west.  There  had 
been  quite  an  area  of  light,  straight  spruce  about  this 
bay,  chiefly  black  spruce,  but  some  tall  white  ones. 
We  saw  only  one  seal. 

Nearby  is  a  very  old  Eskimo  camp  site,  once  just 
above  tide  on  the  narowing  bay,  but  now,  by  the 
gradual  elevation  of  the  coast,  above  a  high  bank  where 
no  Eskimo  would  think  of  camping,  even  if  the  pres- 
ent shallow  river  offered  anything  to  camp  there  for. 

The  summer  house  was  the  usual  small  box  with  a 
place  for  fire.     When  Sam  turned  in  he  wrapped  his 


1906  217 

neck  up  well.  There  was  a  weasel  about,  he  said,  and 
he  had  heard  they  would  cut  one's  throat  sometimes. 

He  discussed  "  fair  play."  An  Eskimo  had  brought 
a  silver  foxskin  to  Hopedale  and  was  offered  $60  for 
it.  He  could  get  a  good  deal  more  at  Davis  Inlet 
and  begged  hard  to  be  allowed  to  sell  it  there.  But  he 
was  not  allowed  to,  under  penalty  of  being  cut  off 
from  all  store  privileges.  Sam  wondered  if  this  was 
not  "  unchristian." 

I  reminded  him  that  the  missions  buy  low  but  sell 
goods  low  to  the  people.  They  lost  largely  on  an  ac- 
cumulation of  silvers  not  long  ago,  and  have  resorted 
to  paying  the  hunter  something  down,  about  half,  I 
think,  then  selling  the  skin  in  London  for  the  best 
price  possible  and  paying  the  balance  afterward.  At 
Nain,  S.  told,  they  had  twenty-five  silvers  the  last 
year.  He  shot  one  in  front  of  his  house  not  long  ago, 
firing  twenty-two  shots.  It  brought  $180,  certainly 
good  pay  for  his  ammunition.  He  has  caught  thirty 
or  forty  at  one  time  or  another,  getting  four  one  year. 

Sam's  ethics  of  trade  are  not  common.  One  year 
he  sold  young  E.  a  dog.  E.  was  offering  eight  or  ten 
dollars  for  a  dog,  but  Sam  said  this  one  was  worth 
only  four  dollars,  and  refused  to  take  more.  So  with 
his  son  Abram,  who  sold  Easton,  traveling  with 
Wallace,  in  1905,  a  beautiful  ranger  seal  sleeping  bag 
for  six  dollars.  Easton  offered  more,  but  A.  knew 
that  a  dollar  a  skin  was  the  proper  price  and  would 
take  only  that. 

But  Sam  was  rather  bitter  about  the  low  prices  the 
Hudson's  Bay  Company  has  paid  in  the  past,  and  said 
they  would  be  doing  no  better  now  if  the  competition 
of  the  French  company  did  not  compel  them  to.     It 


218  Labrador 

is  hard  for  the  people  to  see  the  high  prices  paid  at 
Hamilton  Inlet,  where  there  is  competition,  compared 
with  what  they  get  here.  All  regard  a  new  trader, 
such  as  the  French  company,  as  a  mere  deliverer.  But 
new  traders  begin  high,  to  get  the  trade,  and  I  fancy 
the  tale  of  overreaching  would  be  the  same  in  the  end. 
Moreover,  the  traders  sometimes  pay  too  much.  One 
year  an  incompetent  fur  buyer  paid  absurdly  high 
prices  - —  he  must  have  lost  heavily  for  his  principals  — 
and  I  found  the  next  year  that  furs  were  being  held 
in  the  bays  for  his  promised  return.  Meanwhile  his 
prices  were  taken  as  throwing  light  upon  the  practices 
of  established  dealers.  Expectations  for  the  future 
were  high.  The  non-appearance  of  this  trader  relieved 
the  situation  after  a  time.  The  rapidly  ascending 
prices  of  recent  years  have  given  a  bad  look  to  even 
perfectly  fair  ones  of  the  earlier  period. 

But  the  doubts  of  the  people  are  not  without  a 
basis.  Fair  play  is  not  too  common  where  the  sharp- 
ened organization  of  the  world  comes  in  contact  with 
the  isolated  hunter.  Trade  makes  when  it  can,  as 
much  as  it  can,  and  the  helpless  are  exploited.  At  any 
rate  Sam,  living  to  his  principles  as  with  young  E, 
and  Easton,  had  a  right  to  speak.  He  had  indeed  to 
be  wideawake  not  to  sell  his  foxes  too  low,  now  that 
his  fishing  grounds  were  being  cut  off  by  the  cod  men. 

The  salmon  net  was  absolutely  empty  the  morning 
after  we  arrived,  and  we  dropped  down  to  Jim  Lane's 
by  luncheon  time.  Jim's  trout,  caught  in  fresh  water, 
are  even  beter  than  those  outside  in  the  bay,  combin- 
ing the  good  qualities  of  both  the  fresh  and  salt- 
water fish.  Jim's  small  boy  was  about  the  age  of 
mine,  and  with  his  very  way. 


1906  219 

There  was  wolf  and  deer  talk  in  the  evening.  Sam 
told  about  a  deer  chase  he  and  Abram  had,  using  a 
kometik  and  dogs.  They  "  brown  "  them  in  the  bunch 
with  their  repeating  rifles  while  the  sled  is  going.  A 
large  stag  slowed  up  as  the  sled  came  on,  as  if  to  save 
getting  out  of  breath,  stood  erect  on  his  haunches,  and 
held  his  two  fore  hoofs  upright,  then  clapped  them 
together  with  great  force  and  sound.  His  nostrils 
opened  and  he  blew  jets  of  steam  into  the  cold  air 
with  great  fury.  Holding  his  large  split  hoofs  upright 
he  snapped  the  halves  together  with  a  loud  cracking. 
At  the  demonstration  the  leading  dog  shied  off;  the 
second  leader  jumped  for  the  stag,  and  by  a  blow 
from  one  hoof  was  laid  out  motionless.  The  other 
hoof  had  followed,  for  the  deer  struck  right  and  left, 
but  the  second  blow  missed  because  the  dog  was  al- 
ready down.  The  team  stood  off  after  that.  In  this 
manner,  say  the  hunters,  the  old  stags  kill  wolves.  A 
Cree  hunter  has  told  me  of  having  a  woodland  caribou 
he  was  chasing  stop  in  the  same  way  in  time  to  tread 
down  the  snow  around  him  and  have  room  in  which 
to  fight. 

On  a  time,  one  of  Sam's  tales  went,  wolves  howled 
at  him  all  one  night  near  his  place.  In  the  morning 
he  disabled  one,  whereupon  the  other  approached  him 
behind.  Thinking  the  place  was  "  alive  with  them  " 
he  did  not  shoot  the  second  one,  but  shouted  until  it 
went  away.  Later,  when  he  found  that  there  had  been 
only  two,  he  followed  and  finished  the  first  one,  much 
chagrined  at  losing  the  other. 

More  of  an  experience  was  that  of  William  Flowers, 
living  in  the  next  bay.  He  saw  fifteen  or  twenty 
wolves  on  the  ice  and  struck  off  another  way  among 


220  Labrador 

trees  to  avoid  them.  Soon  he  ran  into  more  wolves, 
who  made  for  him  instantly.  The  first  lot  heard  the 
uproar  and  came  too.  There  may  have  been  thirty 
or  forty  altogether.  He  killed  three  and  disabled  a 
good  many  before  they  left.  Flowers,  a  very  steady 
person,  owned  to  being  too  scared  to  do  good  shoot- 
ing. He  doubted  their  knowing  he  was  a  man  at 
first  sight,  taking  him  rather,  among  the  trees,  for  a 
deer. 

Somewhere  along  the  shore  "  a  bunch  of  women  " 
were  in  a  .tent  while  the  men  were  hunting  A  child 
was  outside  and  a  wolf  made  for  it,  whereupon  the 
women  yelled  until  he  went  off.  The  men  did  not 
believe  the  story,  but  the  women  would  not  sleep  that 
night.  Before  morning  the  wolf  came,  ripped  the  tent, 
and  was  shot.  He  was  an  immense  old  wolf,  with  no 
back  teeth. 

A  sort  of  Red  Riding  Hood  tale  came  later  from 
Spracklin.  His  girls,  one  year,  complained  of  being 
followed  about  by  three  dogs,  which  they  had  to  keep 
off  by  throwing  stones.  It  was  thought  that  they  be- 
longed to  old  John  Lane.  At  one  time  the  men  chased 
them  under  the  landing  stage  and  punished  them  with 
stones.  When  at  last  Lane  came  over  from  his  bay 
he  said  they  were  wolves ;  he  trapped  them  that  winter 
in  the  flat  west  of  the  harbor. 

Spracklin,  who  liked  his  milk,  always  brought  along 
a  nanny  goat  from  home  on  his  schooner;  it  picked 
up  its  living  about  the  station.  One  day  there  was  a 
disturbance  outside  and  the  goat  was  found  in  the  ring 
with  one  of  the  large  foxes  of  the  region,  the  goat 
butting  with  spirit  and  the  fox  dancing  about  to  get 
a  nip. 


1906  221 

The  weather  settled  warm,  with  fine  aurora  on  clear 
nights.  The  first  Sunday  Abram  and  I  walked  to 
George  Lane's  little  house,  two  miles  east.  On  the 
way  a  shrike  was  having  a  sparring  match  in  the  air 
with  two  smaller  birds,  some  two  hundred  feet  up  in 
the  air.  The  little  birds  were  as  ready  to  attack 
as  the  shrike;  it  was  hard  to  tell  which  started  the 
trouble. 

Abram  told  me  of  an  experience  taking  seven  south- 
ern Indians  to  Hopedale  with  his  dogs.  They  wanted 
him  to  go  a  way  he  did  not  want  to  take,  an  unusual 
route,  and  he  refused  to  do  it.  One  of  them  took  hold 
of  him,  showed  anger,  and  was  unpleasant.  Upon 
this,  A.  called  back  his  fifteen  powerful  dogs,  who 
came  bounding  in  eager  for  the  fray.  It  must  have 
been  a  stirring  sight.  The  Indians,  who  had  no  guns, 
accepted  his  views  with  marvelous  promptness,  and 
were  always  civil  to  him  after  that.  Some  of  my 
friends  the  E.'s  were  in  the  group. 

"  August  20.  To  net  with  Sam.  He  had  twenty- 
five  trout  and  a  pele,  the  trout  not  large.  Net  set  in 
form  of  a  little  cod  trap.  Ftsh  nearly  all  dead,  as  they 
were  not  taken  out  yesterday,  Sunday.  Net  bunged 
up  with  fuzzy  weed;  it  is  hard  to  keep  them  clear  as 
late  in  the  season  as  this.  Same  got  a  switchy  stick 
and  worked  a  long  time  beating  the  stuff  off. 

"  A  fine  raised  beach  east  of  the  trout  net,  a  hun- 
dred to  a  hundred  and  twenty-five  feet  above  present 
sea  level.  Jim  Lane's  memory  indicates  twro  feet  rise 
here  in  forty  years.  This  would  put  the  Eskimo  camp 
site  near  summer  house  at  least  three  hundred  years 
back,  which  agrees  with  the  age  of  the  implements 
there." 


222  Labrador 

A  cloud  of  lance,  eel-like  fish  five  or  six  inches 
long,  were  held  in  the  little  trout  trap,  keeping  in  a 
school,  and  absurdly  enough  not  daring  to  go  out 
through  the  two-inch  meshes.  Finally  they  settled  to 
the  bottom  in  despair,  regardless  not  only  of  the  big 
meshes,  but  of  the  opportunity  offered  by  two  four- 
foot  openings. 

These  fish  behave  very  little  like  salmon,  one  of 
which  had  gone  through  the  trap  like  a  shot,  leaving 
a  hole  almost  the  size  of  a  stovepipe.  A  trout  weigh- 
ing eleven  pounds,  however,  stayed  in.  This  trout  was 
twenty-nine  inches  long  and  fifteen  and  seven  eighths 
in  girth.  All  fish  grow  large  here.  In  October  cod 
of  sixty  or  seventy-five  pounds  are  caught  in  shallow 
water  on  the  bar  near  the  house. 

Hereabouts  a  pine  grosbeak  is  a  "  mope,"  a  shrike 
a  "  jay  killer  "  or  "  shreek."  "  The  prettiest  bird  is 
what  we  call  a  fly-catcher,  small,  with  yellow,  white, 
and  changeable  blue,  a  little  black  cap  on  the  head." 

Sam  asked  me  one  day  if  the  water  in  the  interior 
was  all  salt,  as  he  had  always  heard.  He  told  me  that 
the  term  Great  Grampus  was  a  loose  one,  the  proper 
name  of  this  monster  of  the  waters  being  O-mi-oo- 
ah-lik  (boat  wrecker).  It  lives  in  Ungava  Pond, 
where  the  waves  are  always  mountainous.  One  can- 
not see  across  it. 

How  strange  people  are !  Here  they  were,  the  shore 
folk,  taking  the  savage  coast  and  shifting  ice,  the  hunt- 
ing of  the  white  bear  and  walrus,  and  the  dealings 
with  the  great  sea  itself,  as  all  in  the  day's  work,  yet 
investing  the  innocent  white  moss  and  lake  country 
behind  with  most  unheard  of  imaginings.  It  was  a 
foregone  conclusion  that  when  I  asked  A.  if  he  wanted 


1906  223 

to  go  inland  with  me  after  the  mailboat  came,  his  par- 
ents should  decide  that  he  could  not  be  spared. 

The  bay  people  like  summer,  and  none  the  less  for 
its  shortness,  but  their  real  life  is  the  winter  life. 
The  narratives  are  almost  all  of  winter,  of  hunts  and 
storms  and  journeys;  and  all  revolve  around  the  dogs. 
Only  with  his  dogs  and  when  out  with  his  dogs  is  the 
Labrador  man  in  his  glory,  whether  he  be  white, 
mixed,  or  Eskimo.  "  Without  our  dogs  we  might  as 
well  be  dead,"  has  been  said  to  me  by  more  than  one. 
With  the  dogs  they  can  bring  their  wood,  haul  their 
seals,  drive  to  the  far  ice  edge  and  away  before  the 
pack  swings  free.  Inland  for  deer  they  go,  near  to 
the  height  of  land,  out  again  with  meat,  off  to  the  trad- 
ing posts.  In  summer  the  people  are  bound  to  the  fish- 
ing, and  the  dogs  range  about  the  shore,  or  are  left  on 
islands  when  fish  are  to  be  taken  to  market  or  some 
journey  for  supplies  made  in  the  uncertain  winds;  but 
in  the  long  winter  the  people  and  dogs  are  inseparable. 
Along  the  coast  they  go  in  the  low  sun  and  the  keen 
air,  whirling  over  the  great  white  spaces  among  the 
islands,  across  the  wooded  necks  and  lakes,  down  into 
the  bays  and  on.  At  the  houses  they  dash  up  and 
stop,  strong,  cheerful  Eskimo  from  Ramah  and  Nach- 
vack  in  the  north  to  Hopedale  and  Aillik  and  Mok- 
kovik  in  the  south,  visiting  and  eating  and  passing  on 
—  mainly,  if  one  may  say,  for  the  joy  of  the  road. 
Forty,  fifty,  a  hundred  miles  a  day  they  go  when  all  is 
well,  on  under  the  high  winter  moon  and  the  northern 
lights  to  their  snowhouse  inn. 

Sam  could  not  bear  that  I  should  leave  the  coast 
without  seeing  dogs  in  harness,  and  one  day  he  drove 
them  to  the  sled  on  the  level  ground.     It  did  not  go 


224  Labrador 

well.  Eagerly  they  bounded  off  only  to  foul  their 
traces  among  snags  and  bushes.  The  distress  and 
yells  of  the  uncomprehending  leader  were  pathetic.  It 
would  not  do,  but  I  caught  their  spirit.  The  dogs  are 
as  keen  as  their  drivers.  The  joy  of  the  winter  way 
to  them  all ! 

It  is  not  for  me,  seeing  these  dogs  only  in  sum- 
mer, to  say  where  their  undoubted  quality  of  devotion 
ends  and  the  fierceness  of  their  wolf  inheritance  takes 
on.  These  dogs  of  Bromfield's,  and  I  have  seen  the 
like  in  others,  would  follow  along  the  shore  as  we 
rowed  to  the  net  with  all  the  appearance  of  our  home 
dogs  that  cannot  bear  to  be  left  behind,  and  in  spite 
of  our  threatenings.  I  do  not  think  it  was  the  scul- 
pins  and  rock  cod  they  had  in  mind;  they  would  get 
all  they  wanted,  or  all  there  were,  anyway. 

Those  dogs  of  Sam's  were  surely  good  dogs.  A 
fine  old  white  one,  perhaps  the  "  master  dog,"  would 
sit  long  at  A.'s  feet  on  the  beach  and  look  into  his 
eyes  as  only  one's  own  dog  ever  looks,  one's  own  dog. 

Yet  that  was  the  year  of  an  occurrence,  the  Lane 
tragedy,  in  which  dogs  showed  another  character.  It 
happened  at  Easter.  Old  John  Lane,  his  wife,  and 
grandson,  going  to  the  festivities  at  Hopedale  in  a 
great  snowstorm,  never  arrived.  They  were  last  seen 
by  a  sledge  driver  who  drove  off  ahead  of  them,  not 
on  the  ice  but  on  some  land  portion  of  the  route.  In 
a  few  days  the  dogs  came  home  and  were  put  into 
confinement  pending  further  knowledge  of  what  had 
occurred.  Nothing  more  was  actually  known  until 
just  as  I  came  up  on  the  coast.  A  good  deal  of  search 
had  been  made,  but  the  snow  had  leveled  everything 
over.     When  found  at  last  the  woman  and  boy  were 


ENOUGH  FOR  A  CACHE 


HAIR  SKINS  DRYING,  MISTINIPI,  1906 


1906  225 

in  the  covered  kometik  untouched  by  the  dogs,  but 
of  old  John  Lane  only  the  scattered  bones  were  left. 
It  was  probable  that  he  had  fallen  in  the  deep  snow 
and  could  not  rise,  but  it  was  the  opinion  of  those 
most  used  to  the  life  that  his  dogs  would  not  have 
touched  him  while  he  was  alive.  The  dogs  were  killed 
upon  the  finding  of  the  party,  as  is  always  done  under 
such  circumstances. 

The  question  of  hunger  entered  in,  as  the  dogs  may 
have  stayed  about  until  they  were  in  straits.  Here 
develops  a  curious  trait  of  the  Eskimo  dog,  though 
well  known,  apparently,  in  the  region.  Contrary  to 
what  one  would  expect,  it  is  not  dogs  that  are  kept 
underfed  that  are  most  likely  to  attack  persons,  but 
the  reverse.  Not  hunger,  but  the  instinct  of  the  chase 
in  a  strong,  vigorous  animal  seems  to  be  the  main- 
spring. An  animal  heavily  fed  and  gorged  would 
doubtless  be  dull  for  a  time,  but  a  general  high  state 
is  counted  dangerous.  It  is  the  sporting  instinct  that 
is  to  be  feared,  the  instinct  of  the  fox  hunter. 

Another  fact  in  this  connection  long  puzzled  me. 
It  appeared  that  dogs  were  more  apt  to  be  dangerous 
in  "  thick "  weather,  in  times  of  falling  snow,  and 
when  it  is  stormy  and  dark.  In  the  end  it  occurred  to 
me  that  as  this  did  not  seem  to  relate  to  anything  in 
the  human  association  it  might  go  back  to  their  origi- 
nal wolf  period,  and  I  asked  the  old  hunters  if  the 
wolves  hunted  at  such  times.  It  seemed  unlikely. 
We  have  all  heard  of  the  "  truce  of  danger  "  among 
the  animals,  how  the  fiercest  of  them  are  mild  in  the 
presence  of  tumult  and  danger.  But  it  appeared  that 
wolves  did  hunt  at  such  times,  and  particularly  that 
deer  killed  by  them  were  often  found  after  the  great 


226  Labrador 

storms.     The  old  wolf  instincts  still  wake  the  dogs 
to  the  chase  when  such  weather  comes  on. 

The  reason  for  their  hunting  caribou  at  such  times 
seems  plain.  We  who  have  hunted  them  in  the  woods 
of  Maine  and  Canada  know  how  extraordinarily  pas- 
sive and  approachable  they  are  in  snowstorms.  They 
allow  one  to  come  very  near  and  are  reluctant  to  go 
far  when  disturbed.  Doubtless  they  feel  that  as  their 
tracks  are  covered  in  they  are  secure,  for  all  deer  are 
chiefly  concerned  about  their  back  track.  Obviously 
they  are  a  good  deal  hidden  in  snowstorms.  In  bright, 
breezy  days  almost  all  birds  and  animals  are  aston- 
ishingly harder  to  approach  than  in  dull  weather. 

Jim  Lane  had  taken  up  his  father's  place.  I  talked 
with  him  and  various  other  members  of  the  family 
about  the  circumstances  of  the  old  people's  last  journey. 
Those  who  remained  at  home  that  night  told  me  some 
things  I  wish  I  had  written  down ;  at  the  time  it  seemed 
as  if  I  could  not  well  forget  them.  Their  accounts 
were  not  very  different  from  some  others  that  have 
been  told  in  the  world  at  one  time  or  another.  Their 
father,  I  think,  appeared,  and  they  both  saw  and  heard. 
The  dogs  also  were  affected. 

As  mailboat  time  approached,  I  made  an  arrange- 
ment with  a  neighbor  to  take  me  over  to  Fanny's 
when  the  weather  permitted.  The  first  calm  morn- 
ing his  boat  appeared  coming  up  the  bay,  and  as  a 
matter  of  course  I  left  the  boat  I  was  in  and  got  on. 
We  made  a  quiet  trip  to  Fanny's,  with  lightish  winds, 
almost  faint,  before  I  found  out  that  he  had  not  been 
coming  for  me  at  all,  but  was  only  going  to  Jim's. 
He  regarded  the  day  as  too  rough. 

The  week  at  Bromfield's  had  been  a  peaceful  rest. 


1906  227 

The  family  are  uncommonly  pleasant  to  visit.  But 
I  was  chewing  a  rather  bitter  cud,  nevertheless,  un- 
reconciled to  leaving  the  country  without  a  visit  to 
the  barrens,  and  if  possible  the  Indians.  If  I  left  as 
things  were  the  miserable  story  of  the  E.'s  would 
follow  me  over  the  peninsula  from  side  to  side,  and 
no  lodge  would  be  open  to  me.  The  picture  grew  in 
my  mind  of  sitting  on  a  rock  with  old  Ostinitsu,  hav- 
ing got  to  his  camp  in  some  way,  and  hammering  the 
truth  into  him.  To  go  alone  would  hardly  do.  I 
remembered  the  Eskimo  Aaron  at  Nain,  who  spoke 
English  and  had  been  about  the  world;  he  had  been 
willing  to  go  inland  with  me  at  one  time.  If  home 
news  justified  I  could  go  north  to  Nain  on  the  mail- 
boat  and  look  for  him.  It  would  be  better  in  any 
event  to  start  from  there  and  come  south  to  the  Assi- 
waban,  and  not  to  go  from  Fanny's,  for  now  the  fall 
winds  were  on,  strong  from  the  north  and  cold.  It 
was  better  to  have  these  subarctic  trades  on  one's  back. 

The  steamer  came  the  26th,  with  good  news  from 
home,  and  I  went  up  like  a  cork.  In  a  matter  of 
hours  I  was  at  Nain,  looking  for  Aaron.  Then  my 
prospects  fell  off  again,  for  he  was  away  and  no  one 
else  would  go.  The  missionaries  were  preoccupied, 
chiefly  about  their  steamer,  the  Harmony,  now  a 
month  late  —  perhaps  in  the  ice  at  Chidley.  There 
was  only  one  thing  to  do,  and  I  slipped  away  alone 
the  morning  of  the  27th,  leaving  the  place  to  its  cares. 
It  was  afterward  reported  that  I  had  gone  north. 

Everything  was  wrong.  It  was  my  first  rowing 
that  year  and  the  gear  was  not  tuned  up ;  with  a  rope 
rowlock  the  oars  are  apt  to  twist  a  little  and  wear 
the  hands.     A   southeast   wind,   a  head   wind,   made 


228  Labrador 

things  worse.  Five  miles  south  from  Nain  I  came 
across  a  tent  and  a  man  codfishing,  a  nearly  white 
man  of  good  kind,  named  Webb,  from  Port  Manvers, 
north.  He  would  sail  me  along  a  few  hours  for  the 
price  of  a  quintal  of  fish,  but  as  we  both  thought  the 
wind  was  going  to  shift  to  southwest  and  relieve  my 
difficulties,  I  rowed  on.  It  was  a  mistake;  the  wind 
held,  increased,  and  before  long  a  wide,  tide-worked 
passage  barred  my  way,  though  doubtless  I  could  have 
got  across  in  the  course  of  time  I  took  to  a  smooth, 
barren  island  for  the  night,  where  there  was  a  fairly 
sheltered  lee  and  a  little  driftwood.  The  wind  let  up 
a  little  later,  but  I  stuck  to  my  fire.  Rain  came  on, 
and  sleeping  under  the  canoe,  which  was  rather  narrow, 
the  edges  of  my  oilskin  coat,  which  I  had  laid  down 
on  the  ground,  worked  out  under  the  drip  and  col- 
lected it  under  me.  The  coat  was  as  good  as  a  bath 
tub.  Memo  for  travelers :  Let  not  your  ground-cloth 
get  out  under  the  eaves ! 

In  the  morning  a  northwester  was  on,  cutting  vic- 
iously about  the  passages.  There  was  not  much  in 
moving  until  it  let  down,  but  by  hard  work  I  made  a 
mile  or  two  under  a  sort  of  lee.  The  squalls  took  a 
good  deal  of  watching.  There  was  not  much  fight 
in  me  that  morning,  perhaps  from  the  hard  first  pull 
of  the  day  before  and  the  sort  of  night  I  had  had. 
The  surroundings  were  part  of  it.  Those  walls  and 
rock  slopes  under  Nain  would  touch  almost  any  one's 
morale.  I  saw  things  happening ;  and  as  I  was  work- 
ing across  a  particularly  wide  water  I  found  that  I 
was  not  the  only  one  who  did,  though  the  other,  a  gull, 
had  his  own  point  of  view  about  it  all.  He  was  one 
of  a  number,   chiefly  black-backs  and  herring  gulls, 


1906  229 

that  were  gyrating  about  in  the  puffs  to  leeward.  This 
one,  a  fine,  business-like  burgomaster  —  they  are  large, 
stout  birds  —  bore  up  wind  and  deliberately  looked  me 
over  with  his  pale  eye  as  he  wore  across  a  few  yards 
away.  We  were  thinking  of  the  same  contingency. 
That  long  beak  with  the  hook  is  for  tearing  things  on 
the  beach. 

Then  came  a  wide  passage.  The  wind  came  with 
a  long  run  here,  from  a  deep  bay  reaching  inland. 
Landing,  I  looked  and  looked  again,  then  went  back 
on  a  hill  and  looked  more,  trying  to  get  the  measure 
of  the  tide  run  on  the  other  side.  As  things  appeared 
I  could  have  got  over,  but  the  trouble  with  such  places 
is  that  it  takes  half  an  hour  to  get  to  the  worst  of  the 
tide  run,  and  in  that  time  new  currents  may  develop, 
let  alone  more  wind,  and  everything  go  to  the  bad. 
Not  only  does  the  traveler  without  local  tide  knowledge 
find  himself  thus  standing  on  one  foot  and  then  on  the 
other  at  such  times,  but  the  bay  people  too.  This 
time  I  had  some  two  hours  of  it. 

I  put  out  gingerly,  but  was  no  sooner  beyond  the 
sheltered  water  under  the  shore,  and  out  where  the 
rough  water  had  been,  than  everything  quieted  down 
and  gave  me  no  trouble.  There  was  still  a  tide 
crotch  bobble  beyond  the  turn  at  the  crested  hill  which 
was  almost  but  not  quite  troublesome,  but  from  there 
the  wind  was  nearly  aft. 

For  hours  I  rowed  most  of  the  time  one  side  only, 
letting  the  wind  do  the  work  of  the  other  oar.  Such 
a  yawing  craft  never  was  before.  In  the  same  wind 
the  1903  Oldtozvn  would  have  rowed  evenly  and  fast. 

I  had  not  much  hope  of  seeing  any  one  along  the 
way,  for  the  bay  people  go  to  outside  waters  at  this 


230  Labrador 

time  for  codfish.  What  I  had  in  mind  was  to  go  as 
far  as  the  high  barrens  anyway,  beyond  the  forks  of 
the  Assiwaban,  see  the  deer,  and  if  things  went  well 
keep  on  to  Mistinipi  and  the  Indians.  If  they  had 
moved  with  the  deer,  as  they  had  said  they  might,  the 
round  trip  from  Nain  inland  and  back  to  Davis  Inlet 
might  cover  nearly  three  hundred  miles.  If  I  had  not 
been  a  good  deal  worked  up  about  the  situation  I  should 
not  have  taken  on  so  large  a  job  alone,  particularly 
at  that  time  of  year.  Nor  was  it  certain  that  the  In- 
dians would  be  a  pleasant  or  profitable  find  to  make, 
anyway,  as  things  were. 

What  changed  the  face  of  things  for  me ,  for 
changed  it  was,  was  the  finding  of  Edmund  Winters 
at  his  place  near  Voisey's.  Finding  him  at  home  I 
floored  there,  as  a  matter  of  course,  and  we  all  had 
things  over  in  the  evening.  I  owned  up  to  not  liking 
to  make  the  trip  alone.  In  the  course  of  the  evening 
Edmund  and  his  wife  talked  together,  then  asked  me 
if  their  boy  would  do  me  any  good. 

"How  old  is  he?" 

"Fifteen,  but  he  is  strong." 

"  I'll  take  him !     Now  show  me  the  boy." 

About  seven  in  the  morning,  August  29th,  we 
started  for  the  Assiwaban,  some  eight  miles. 
Richard  had  never  been  in  a  canoe  before,  and  I  let 
him  row  while  I  paddled.  We  lunched  at  my  camp- 
ing place  of  July,  where  the  date  and  record  I  had 
left  at  that  time,  as  always  in  lone  stopping  places, 
looked  quite  historical  now.  A  seal  swam  about  at 
one  hundred  and  fifty  yards,  throwing  himself  clear 
of  the  water  in  a  magnificent  back  somersault  at  our 


1906  231 

shot.     It  did  not  follow  that  we  had  scraped  him,  they 
seem  to  do  it  for  fun  sometimes. 

On  the  portage  by  the  falls  black  flies  were  plenty 
in  the  bushes,  as  is  the  way  in  September.  Two 
miles  above  on  a  gravel  beach  we  camped,  with  an  eye 
for  trout,  and  the  same  redoubtable  salmon  fly  I  had 
used  in  July  came  into  play,  with  its  eight  feet  of  line 
and  a  stick.  We  slapped  the  shallow  water  at  twilight 
in  good  Assiwaban  style,  close  to  the  shore,  soon  get- 
ting all  we  wanted;  there  were  ten  trout  weighing 
some  twenty-five  pounds.  We  would  haul  them 
around  sideways  without  any  play  and  run  them  up 
the  sloping  bank.  Richard  cleaned  them  in  the  dusk. 
In  the  morning  he  called  to  me  that  there  were  two 
kinds,  and  so  there  were.  Namaycush  some  were 
surely,  one  nearly  two  feet  long  The  few  I  have  seen 
in  the  lakes  have  been  deepish  fish,  but  these  were  long 
and  rangy,  as  if  living  always  in  running  water  They 
were  brilliantly  colored 

The  rapids  next  day  went  slowly;  Richard  was  not 
used  to  the  running  water.  At  our  camp  on  the 
Natua-ashish  trout  were  jumping,  but  our  stick  rod 
would  not  reach  out  to  them;  we  did  not  need  them 
anyway.  There  were  few  game  tracks  along  the 
beaches,  even  in  this  year  of  caribou.  Next  day  we 
were  well  punished  getting  toward  the  wind  lake, 
inching  for  hours  against  vicious  squalls;  here  some 
trained  paddling  power  would  have  served.  All  at 
once  the  fuss  abated,  and  the  long  wind  lake,  now  on 
the  Canadian  map  as  Cabot  lake,  let  us  through  easily 
after  luncheon;  and  although  rain  held  us  half  a  day, 
we  made  the  forks  September  ist.     Rather  than  try 


232  Labrador 

the  bad  boating  beyond  in  cold,  wet  weather  we  hid 
the  canoe  and  some  provisions  at  the  forks.  A  can  of 
pea-meal  ration  left  there  in  July  was  intact.  We 
had,  by  the  way,  left  enough  tins  of  this  along  back, 
cached  beyond  possible  discovery,  to  take  us  out  afoot 
to  the  coast  at  least  half  fed.  There  was  not  much 
danger  of  personal  harm  from  the  Indians,  but  with 
their  own  peculiar  humor  they  might  like  to  see  how 
light  of  supplies  and  outfit  we  could  travel. 

We  started  for  the  highlands  with  a  few  days'  sup- 
plies of  bacon,  hardbread,  tea,  and  tin  rations,  the 
light  round  tent,  and  a  blanket  apiece.  The  combina- 
tion gun,  a  few  cartridges,  a  folding  camera  and  films 
pretty  much  completed  the  loads  of,  say,  thirty-five  and 
twenty-two  pounds.  Richard  had  a  hooded  Eskimo 
frock  or  "  dickey."  We  had  tin  cups  and  a  small  pail 
for  the  tea,  and  a  rectangular  dripping  pan  of  sheet 
iron  some  two  and  a  half  inches  deep  for  frying  and 
stewing.  A  square  pan  is  less  likely  to  upset  than  a 
round  one,  and  fits  such  things  as  fish  and  most  shapes 
of  meat  better.  These  "  cooking  tools "  were  very 
light.  A  notched  stick  three  or  four  feet  long,  shoved 
into  the  ring  of  the  pan,  saved  bending  over,  as  one 
has  to  with  a  short  handle.  Such  a  handle  is  a  great 
convenience  with  a  thin  pan,  which  must  be  held  over 
the  fire  by  the  cook  most  of  the  time  or  the  fish  will 
burn. 

It  was  a  black,  misty  day  of  strong  north  wind,  cold 
and  cheerless,  but  luckily  the  wind  came  from  the 
side  and  not  ahead.  The  first  caribou  appeared  soon 
in  the  deer  bush  among  the  rolling  ridges,  and  I 
made  a  high  miss.  They  were  nearer  than  they  looked, 
as  things   in   the   barrens   are   usually.     There   were 


1906  233 

seven  or  eight  young  bucks  and  does.  It  was  late 
when  we  started,  and  as  the  climb  to  tlie  high  level 
was  more  than  a  thousand  feet,  by  the  end  of  the 
afternoon  we  were  tired,  although  only  twelve  or  fif- 
teen miles  out.  We  were  then  on  a  high  reach  of 
country  leading  west,  with  a  streak  of  scattered  spruce, 
dead  and  alive,  running  along  for  quite  a  distance;  a 
sort  of  growth  which  generally  appears  on  such  damp 
north  exposures.  Rain  began,  and  we  put  up  the  tent 
in  the  lee  of  a  stunted  tree  or  two.  Wood  came  easily; 
the  dead  trees,  white  and  hard,  four  or  five  inches 
through  at  the  butt,  were  rotten  at  the  ground  and 
pushed  over  easily.  With  a  butt  under  each  arm  we 
trailed  them  quickly  to  camp,  and  in  twenty  minutes 
had  plenty  of  wood  for  all  night,  though  scattered  as 
the  trees  were  it  had  taken  some  acres  of  land  to 
furnish  them.  It  had  been  very  cold  and  raw  all  day, 
and  occasional  snow  came  with  the  rain.  Now  the 
gale  increased.  Only  a  wind-break  of  such  evergreen 
stuff  as  we  could  get  together  enabled  us  to  keep  the 
tent  and  fire  from  blowing  away.  If  it  had  not  rained 
much  we  could  have  used  the  tent  as  an  extra  blanket 
and  got  on  without  fire,  but  as  it  was  we  agreed  that 
one  of  us  must  stay  up  and  keep  the  other  warm. 
The  boy  had  the  first  turn.  He  was  off  in  an  instant, 
and  though  the  night  was  long  it  seemed  a  pity  to  wake 
him,  especially  as  the  fire  took  experienced  manage- 
ment. At  times  I  dozed  in  the  firelight.  Before  morn- 
ing the  wind  shifted  east,  a  warmer  quarter,  and  fell  off 
a  little,  also  the  rain.  I  moved  the  wind-break  to  suit, 
and  dawn  came  at  last.  How  the  boy  did  sleep!  I 
thought  I  should  have  to  drag  him  twice  around  the 
fire  before  getting  him  awake.     When  at  last  he  be- 


234  Labrador 

came  conscious  he  jumped  readily  to  his  feet  and  went 
to  work  with  a  will.  Things  were  quieting  down,  I 
was  all  but  asleep  anyway,  and  in  a  few  minutes  must 
have  gone  well  down  to  the  level  he  had  pulled  up 
from.  In  three  hours  or  so  I  felt  a  touch  and  faintly 
heard  a  whisper,  "  Cartridge!  Shot  cartridge!"  I 
waked  enough  to  find  two  or  three  and  fell  away  again. 
When  I  finally  turned  out  the  boy  was  picking  four 
ptarmigan,  which  he  had  killed  with  two  shots.  He 
was  a  silent  boy,  and  a  little  shy  then,  having  never 
been  away  from  his  people  before.  I  was  of  a  strange 
breed  and  he  made  no  advances,  but  was  an  unusual 
boy  nevertheless;  his  little  white  "dickey"  held  most 
of  the  good  qualities  of  dog,  boy,  and  man. 

Off  we  went,  a  little  late  after  the  two  nights  we 
had  made  of  it,  one  for  each  of  us,  and  in  four  or 
five  miles  had  flanked  a  long  pond  and  were  broad  off 
the  high  portage.  We  had  occasionally  seen  some  sign 
of  the  Indian  route  —  it  is  not  a  trail  —  here  a  stone 
laid  upon  a  boulder  on  the  crest  of  a  ridge,  there  a 
burnt  brand  at  the  edge  of  a  pond.  The  Indians  go 
free,  high  over  the  shoulder  of  a  hill,  sloping  off  to 
the  right  or  left  for  some  winding  pond,  across  long 
levels  and  up  some  unbelievable  slope  —  but  where 
the  footing  is  good.  There  is  no  visible  path  from 
where  they  leave  the  bushes  near  the  forks  to  the  hills 
south  of  the  high  portage  where  their  signs  appear  no 
more. 

A  bunch  of  caribou  appeared  before  luncheon. 
They  were  feeding  on  the  deerbush  in  a  sheltered  de- 
pression. We  needed  a  meat  cache  there  for  the  return 
and  sacrificed  a  doe,  weighted  our  packs  reluctantly 
with  meat,  and  went  along  familiar  ponds  to  the  south- 


1906  235 

west.  We  were  carrying  with  a  string  over  the  head, 
with  twigs  under  it  to  bear  on,  and  another  string 
around  the  points  of  the  shoulders.  The  packs  so 
carried  kept  wonderfuly  steady;  they  seemed  a  part 
of  us.  There  was  no  swinging  and  lurching  as  we 
twisted  about  among  the  boulders,  then  perhaps  down 
into  the  mud  and  up  with  a  stretch  upon  a  stone  again. 
The  wet  weather  had  spoiled  the  traveling,  doubled  the 
work. 

Misty  rain  drove  from  north  again  as  we  camped. 
But  for  being  in  the  lee  of  a  rifted  boulder,  some 
twenty  feet  long,  we  could  not  possibly  have  kept  the 
tent  up;  it  flapped  and  loosened  as  the  gusts  came 
around  the  ends  of  the  rock,  sometimes  from  one 
side  and  again  the  other.  We  would  shove  out  the 
heavy  stones  which  held  the  edges  down  and  tighten 
up  a  little  now  and  then,  but  it  looked  as  if  we  should 
have  the  tent  down  before  morning.  Once  in  the 
evening  I  put  my  head  up  over  the  rock  and  took 
the  wind  and  fine  rain  in  my  face.  It  was  about  im- 
possible to  bear  the  sting.  We  slept  fairly;  it  was 
not  so  cold  as  the  night  before. 

Many  caribou  were  feeding  on  the  smooth  hill  north 
of  Long  pond  next  day,  moving  off  and  on  as  we 
approached,  and  circling  widely  for  our  wind.  They 
showed  more  curiosity  than  fear.  A  perky  young 
buck  walked  up  within  fifty  feet,  dancing  and  per- 
forming as  he  tried  to  make  us  out  behind  a  boulder. 
Catching  our  wind  at  last,  he  turned  short,  dove  down 
the  steep  hill,  dashed  across  the  wide  valley,  and  out 
of  sight,  as  if  pursued  by  demons.  His  instant  change 
from  a  dancing  prince  to  a  panic-stricken  fugitive, 
fairly  falling  over  himself  down  the  hill  and  not  look- 


236  Labrador 

ing  back,   was   very   funny.     An  hour  later  we  re- 
marked that  he  must  be  going  yet. 

Four  or  five  of  the  deer  that  we  had  disturbed  in 
crossing  the  hill  soon  appeared  swimming  across  Long 
pond  below  us,  looking  like  ducks  in  the  distance. 
Through  the  calmer  hours  came  occasionally  the  warn- 
ing note  of  geese  as  we  passed  the  ponds.  They 
spotted  us  far  away  on  the  ridges.  The  cry  of  loons 
was  frequent,  usually  high  in  the  air;  their  September 
uneasiness  was  on,  they  would  soon  be  gone.  Soon 
the  geese  and  loons  would  be  at  the  shore;  indeed 
by  the  time  we  were  out  the  former  were  honking  at 
us  again  from  low  points  and  islands,  and  at  Fanny's 
I  saw  some  part  of  the  "  million  geese "  Spracklin 
had  told  of  there  —  a  small  part.  There  were  no 
mice  this  year.  Whether  they  had  moved  or  died  off 
is  not  clear.  There  is  one  circumstance  that  supports 
their  migrating  —  their  habit  of  swimming  the  rivers 
in  numbers  at  night.  It  would  seem  that  they  could 
not  have  any  motive  for  merely  swimming  about,  but 
were  going  somewhere.  In  1905  they  were  so  numer- 
ous on  the  land  that  we  often  saw  two  at  a  time  as 
we  were  walking.  Every  low  twig  was  riddled  by 
them.  One  could  not  lay  bread  or  meat  on  the  moss 
without  picking  up  a  dozen  or  two  of  their  minute 
droppings.  It  was  pleasanter  this  year  without  them, 
but  in  their  presence  one  thing  was  always  worth  con- 
sidering, that  so  long  as  they  were  about  one  could  not 
possibly  starve.  They  were  like  field  mice,  with 
rather  stumpy  tails.  There  were  lemmings,  also,  two 
kinds  as  I  remember.  The  idea  of  the  mice  being 
night  swimmers  is  only  inferential ;  they  were  rarely 
if  ever  on  the  water  daytimes,  yet  all  the  trout  of  any 


1906  237 

size  were  full  of  them.  A  trout  of  only  a  pound 
weight  would  contain  several.  The  fish  actually 
tasted  mousey,  and  we  used  to  rip  them  up  as  fast  as 
caught  and  let  the  mice  drop  out,  which  seemed  to  help 
matters. 

The  wolves  sang  at  night,  never  very  near.  The 
pitch  seemed  a  little  higher  than  that  of  the  Eskimo 
dogs.  The  steady  hunting  call  of  the  wolves  came 
sometimes  in  alternation  with  the  cry  of  the  loons. 
Ptarmigan  were  scarce.  In  1905  we  ought  to  have 
seen  a  hundred  and  fifty  in  such  a  walk,  instead  of  the 
dozen  we  did  in  fact.  Ravens  were  rather  plenty,  and 
jays,  the  latter  very  dark. 

The  rainy  camp  at  the  "  Black  Rock,"  as  we  called 
it,  was  the  last  at  which  we  put  up  a  tent,  after  that 
we  used  the  tent  for  a  blanket.  The  nights  were  gen- 
erally freezing,  and  we  had  little  enough  covering,  but 
slept  snug  together  in  our  clothes  and  always  fared 
well.  The  packs  were  now  a  little  heavy  with  meat, 
and  the  next  night  R.  owned  up  to  being  very  tired. 
Just  before  stopping  we  started  a  band  of  four  great 
stags  with  immense  horns.  They  would  not  let  us 
come  nearer  than  a  quarter  of  a  mile,  and  went  off  at 
a  hard  run.  Presently  they  appeared  on  the  side  of  a 
steep  hill  quite  near,  slanting  up  at  a  great  pace.  They 
were  a  grand  sight  in  their  wild  rush  along  the  sky 
line.     The  old  stags  are  always  shy. 

Now,  with  fine  weather,  it  was  good  to  be  out. 
There  were  no  mosquitoes,  and  with  their  departure 
the  curse  of  the  country  was  lifted.  Now  we  could 
sit  down  in  peace,  or  walk,  or  have  our  thoughts.  As 
the  moss  dried  out  on  the  hills  near  the  height  of 
land  they  looked  almost  snowy  —  they  were  velvet  to 


238  Labrador 

the  feet,  and  the  days  of  walking  were  never  too  long. 
Sometimes  we  went  over  the  hills,  sometimes  along 
the  deer  paths  by  the  lakes. 

At  the  third  camp  we  left  the  tent,  some  food,  and 
my  skin  boots.  These  last  are  as  nothing  in  such  a 
walk;  when  long  wet  they  become  pulpy,  "  tripy  " — 
and  sharp  stones  cut  through  easily.  This  cache  was 
at  the  thatched  tree  where  Q.  and  I  had  stopped  with 
Indians  the  year  before,  on  a  small,  pretty  lake  over- 
looked by  a  fine,  rounded  hill  rising  abruptly  from  the 
south  side. 

With  beautiful  Hawk  Lake  to  the  left  we  kept  the 
highlands  beyond  and  crossed  the  height  of  land  in 
a  high  saddle,  the  third  notch  north  of  the  regular 
portage  route.  Beyond  were  wide,  boggy  levels,  well 
afloat,  but  we  made  Mistinipi  before  night  at  a  point 
three  or  four  miles  down  the  lake,  our  crosscut  having 
saved  distance  which  we  paid  for  in  hard  bog  travel. 
During  the  afternoon  a  young  stag  furnished  us  with 
a  reassuring  cache  of  meat.  There  were  tamaracks 
where  we  finally  stopped,  on  a  friendly  level  beside  the 
lake,  where  wind  could  not  do  much  harm,  and  where 
if  necessary,  being  tentless,  we  could  put  up  a  brush 
roof.  It  rained  a  bit  through  the  night,  but  as  it  was 
warm  we  were  not  the  worse  A  long  belt  of  trees 
following  the  lake  was  full  of  ravens,  cawing  almost 
like  crows,  but  with  more  modulation  and  a  pleasanter 
voice.  They  had  gathered  there  with  an  eye  to  certain 
deer  carcasses,  hauled  up  here  and  there  along  the 
shore  by  Indians.  In  the  morning  we  left  our 
blankets,  took  the  camera,  gun,  and  a  bite  to  eat,  and 
started  for  the  main  narrows  to  see  if  the  Indians  were 
still  there.     I  was  not  very  hopeful.     Nevertheless  in 


1906  239 

an  hour,  as  we  turned  a  point,  across  a  wide  bay  ap- 
peared three  deerskin  lodges,  surprisingly  conspicuous 
and  handsome  in  the  sunshine.  We  brightened  up 
and  pushed  around  the  bay  in  high  spirits.  Old 
Ostinitsu  was  cornered  at  last.  On  a  point  between 
us  and  the  camp  was  a  camp  site  lately  abandoned. 
Pieces  of  rotten  meat  lay  about,  and  other  rubbish 
not  inviting;  it  was  not  pleasant.  There  was  a  wind- 
dow  of  large  horns,  in  the  velvet,  stacked  together. 
I  think  the  old  meat  was  left  there  to  attract  foxes 
and  the  like;  the  trapping  season  would  soon  be  on. 
The  Indians'  ordinary  camping  places  are  kept  clean. 
Four  or  five  Indians  were  sitting  in  a  little  dug  out, 
hollow  depression  on  a  knoll  back  of  the  lodges,  their 
faces  turned  rather  away  from  us  across  the  lakes. 
We  were  within  a  hundred  yards  of  them  before  they 
noticed  us.  Then  one  happened  to  look  our  way, 
spoke  to  the  others,  and  all  rose,  tall  against  the  sky, 
and  descended  to  meet  us.  We  walked  forward,  our 
gun  empty  and  thrown  open.  They  were  the  older 
men.  Ostinitsu  I  knew,  but  not  the  others.  They 
looked  surprised  to  see  us  there.  "  Tante  mitshiuap?  " 
O.  asked,  "Where  is  your  tent?"  I  explained,  and 
he  remembered  the  spot.  Where  is  your  canoe? 
"  Mistastin  lishtuets."  How  many  in  the  party? 
"  Only  the  boy,"  I  said  looking  back  at  Richard,  "  but 
he  is  a  good  boy."  The  men  looked  at  each  other, 
spoke  a  little,  and  seemed  at  a  loss.  There  was  no 
doubt  of  their  surprise  at  the  situation.  White  men 
did  not  travel  that  way.  I  took  the  lead.  "  Can  you 
let  me  have  a  pair  of  moccasins?  There  has  been 
much  rain,  and  the  country  is  wet  and  hard  to  travel," 
and  I  turned  up  my  foot  to  show  the  holes.     O.  mur- 


240  Labrador 

mured  something,  but  seemed  absent.  Presently  we 
went  on  to  the  lodges.  Women,  mostly  in  cloth 
dresses,  others  in  deerskins,  and  children,  came  out 
and  stood  about,  but  nothing  much  developed,  and  I 
felt  it  in  the  air  that  they  did  not  know  precisely  what 
to  do  with  us.  To  give  them  a  chance  to  talk  matters 
over  I  thought  I  would  go  off  out  of  the  way,  and 
accordingly  started  with  Richard  up  the  long  slope  of 
the  hill  west,  saying  to  Ostinitsu,  "  You  know  it 
snowed  and  blew  when  we  were  here  a  year  ago,  and 
now  I  want  to  get  a  picture  of  the  lake  while  it  is  good 
weather," —  this  of  course  in  Indian  —  and  leaving  our 
gun  on  a  rock  I  asked  him  to  put  it  inside  if  it  rained, 
for  it  was  a  little  showery.  He  nodded  vaguely  and 
we  departed. 

As  we  approached  the  camp  again  an  hour  after- 
ward all  the  people  were  standing  together  about  a 
little  tree,  evidently  in  council.  They  spread  about  as 
we  came  on.  Some  of  the  younger  men,  Nahpayo, 
Pakuunnoh,  and  Puckway,  whom  I  knew,  came  and 
shook  hands  warmly.  O.  also  had  turned  altogether 
agreeable  and  asked  us  to  stay  with  them.  We  were 
glad  to  accept,  and  I  asked  him  for  a  canoe  to  sleep 
under,  also  to  have  our  things  fetched  up  from  the 
place  where  we  had  slept.  He  demurred  at  our  sleep- 
ing under  a  canoe,  pointing  to  a  little  cloth  tent  used  to 
store  dried  meat  in,  and  urging  us  to  use  that,  at  the 
same  time  sending  a  canoe  for  the  baggage,  with  Rich- 
ard along  to  find  the  place. 

My  chance  had  come.  I  wandered  about  with  the 
camera  and  made  the  most  of  the  situation.  Smiles 
prevailed  everywhere  as  I  went  about;  we  were  guests 
of  the  camp.     It  must  have  been  agreed  that  we  de- 


1906  241 

served  something  for  our  walk.  The  older  women 
did  various  operations  on  the  skins  with  their  different 
tools,  made  pemmican,  went  through  many  acts  of  their 
routine.  They  lifted  the  covering  skins  from  what- 
ever I  cast  my  eye  upon,  showed  me  what  was  there 
and  what  everything  was  for.  Most  of  their  dried 
meat  and  other  things  were  piled  close  alongside  the 
lodges,  covered  with  skins. 

Two  or  three  young  women,  "  buds  "  of  the  season, 
were  round  about  without  visible  duties.  They 
watched  me  with  interest  at  times,  or  hob-nobbed  with 
the  older  women  over  the  skins  they  were  working, 
discussing  this  or  that  point,  perhaps  the  use  to  which 
one  skin  and  another  was  best  adapted,  whether  they 
would  best  go  this  way,  or  that.  A  younger  girl,  the 
daughter  of  Minowish,  one  of  the  best  of  the  older 
men,  certainly  had  eyes,  nor  were  any  of  these 
younger  ones  failing  in  a  certain  coquettish  air.  The 
housewives  were  pleasantly  grave  and  simple.  These 
older  women  looked  hard  worked  and  thin,  under  all 
their  unusual  toil  upon  meat  and  skins,  besides  their 
household  duties.  The  men  appeared  well  fed  and 
easy.  The  man's  work  of  providing  game  was  mere 
sport  as  things  were. 

The  next  time  I  saw  these  people,  this  time  on  the 
George,  the  women  were  comparatively  round  faced, 
and  looked  as  if  life  was  going  well,  while  the  men 
were  trained  down  and  hard  conditioned.  The  deer 
were  scattered  sparsely  over  the  country,  the  food 
scaffolds  were  low,  and  the  hunting  men  had  to  be  al- 
ways afoot  over  the  country.  So  it  goes,  too  much  or 
too  little,  one  year  and  another.  Whether,  in  this  fol- 
lowing winter,  the  deer  still  remain  and  all  may  eat,  or 


242  Labrador 

the  women  and  children  are  waiting,  with  small  hope, 
for  what  the  hunters  may  bring,  is  as  it  may  be.  Too 
often  the  game  fails  utterly.  If  still  in  the  country 
east  of  the  George  the  people  should  be  able,  if  neces- 
sary, to  force  their  way  to  the  coast  for  relief  before 
the  worst. 

A  straight  old  woman,  dressed  all  in  caribou  skins, 
came  to  me  and  began  to  explain  something  with  great 
earnestness,  but  I  found  it  hard  to  make  much  of  what 
she  said.  After  a  time  I  understood  that  a  young  man 
was  ill;  I  was  not  to  go  to  the  lodge  where  he  was. 
The  young  man,  it  seemed,  was  about  the  size  and  age 
of  a  certain  girl,  and  she  pointed  to  another  lodge.  I 
thought  little  of  the  matter  then,  so  much  was  going  on 
that  was  distracting.  Old  Nijwa,  the  woman  who  had 
done  the  talking,  asked  if  I  had  a  bit  of  tobacco  to 
spare,  for  they  all  smoke,  but  I  had  not  at  that  mo- 
ment. Later  I  walked  toward  her  lodge  with  a  small 
piece,  speaking  as  I  approached.  She  flew  to  the 
door,  warned  me  away  with  extreme  energy,  and 
pointed  to  a  girl  evidently  very  ill,  behind  in  the  tent. 
Then  I  understood ;  there  were  two  young  people  ill,  a 
young  man  and  a  girl.  She  was  so  excited  that  she 
hardly  noticed  the  tobacco.  I  have  often  thought  of 
the  unusual  conscience  she  showed  in  warning  us; 
too  rarely  is  the  like  to  be  met  with  nearer  home. 

They  had  speared  no  less  than  twelve  or  fifteen  hun- 
dred deer  in  a  few  weeks.  From  three  to  five  hundred 
carcasses,  skinned  and  washed  out,  were  hauled  up  on 
the  gravel  beach,  drying  hard  and  black  in  the  sun 
and  the  cool  September  wind.  There  were  no  flies 
about  them  and  no  smell.  Later  the  meat  would  be 
stripped  off  and  baled  away.     At  first  I  thought  the 


1906  243 

carcasses  had  been  thrown  away,  but  not  so;  meat  I 
had  seen  them  traveling  with  evidently  came  from 
just  such  whole  carcasses.  The  head  was  always  gone 
—  the  hunter  himself  must  eat  it  or  forfeit  his  fortune 
in  the  chase;  the  rest  belongs  to  the  group  in  common. 
Not  all  the  carcasses  were  complete,  sometimes  a  leg 
or  other  part  was  gone.  The  spectacle  of  so  many 
blackened  carcasses,  more  or  less  dismembered,  was  not 
pleasing,  at  any  rate  not  to  us  who  had  never  suf- 
fered famine ;  it  was  a  savage  feast,  alike  for  Indian, 
wolf,  and  raven. 

O.  asked  me  if  I  had  any  bread  —  he  probably 
wanted  it  for  the  sick  ones.  I  said  no,  I  was  getting 
to  be  an  old  man  and  could  not  carry  much  across  the 
barrens  —  there  had  been  plenty  of  caribou  for  us  to 
travel  on;  but  I  handed  him  some  of  the  pea-meal 
ration.  The  old  man  looked  at  me,  reached  out  his 
long  arms,  laid  his  hands  upon  my  shoulders  and  said, 
"  You  may  be  an  old  man,  but  you  would  make  a 
great  chief  trader!"  They  still  hoped  I  would  come 
and  trade.  I  had  no  sense  of  over  familiarity  on  his 
part.  It  is  remarkable  how  intimate  these  people  can 
be  when  they  care  to,  without  the  least  offense.  It  is 
the  mark  of  their  quality,  perceived  by  many  who 
have  known  them.  Of  these  long  ago  was  Baron 
Lahontan,  who,  coming  from  the  most  brilliant  court 
of  Europe  to  the  tribes  of  the  Upper  St.  Lawrence, 
was  able  to  say,  in  effect,  "  As  for  myself  I  must 
acknowledge  that  the  manners  and  personality  of  these 
people  are  entirely  agreeable  to  me."  And  in  a  recent 
day  on  Maniquagan  river  came  the  almost  unwilling 
observation  of  a  companion  from  the  Anglo-Saxon 
world,  a  world  which  has  scant  grace  and  unseeing 


244  Labrador 

eyes  for  native  races,  "  After  all,  the  natural  Indian 
is  a  good  deal  of  a  gentleman." 

A  little  fire  was  made  outdoors  at  ten  or  eleven  and 
a  large  copper  kettle  went  on,  filled  well  up  with 
crushed  marrowbones.  As  it  boiled  Ostinitsu  stirred 
it  with  a  four- foot  stick  and  all  the  camp  gathered  by. 
After  it  had  boiled  enough  O.  skimmed  the  grease  off 
the  top,  brought  out  an  earthen  bowl,  took  up  a  pint 
and  a  half  of  the  broth  and  offered  it  to  me.  It  was 
a  little  tallowy;  the  under  part  of  the  stock  had  evi- 
dently been  boiled  before,  but  it  was  not  bad.  I  did 
not  get  quite  enough. 

Richard  came  back  in  due  time  with  the  baggage. 
The  party  had  come  upon  two  deer  swimming  the 
lake.  The  canoe  was  run  hard  upon  one,  which  was 
speared,  and  then  the  other,  both  in  the  back.  One 
of  them  nearly  upset  the  canoe.  Richard  said  the 
blood  spurted  as  high  as  the  gunwale.  The  deer  were 
left  with  just  enough  strength  to  reach  the  shore, 
where  they  fell  in  the  edge  of  the  water  without  be- 
ing able  to  get  out.  The  Indians  took  the  skins  and 
the  best  of  the  meat,  leaving  the  rest. 

Richard  was  hungry  enough  by  this  time,  for  it  was 
long  since  breakfast,  and  I  advised  him  to  take  his 
share  of  the  soup,  but  after  looking  into  the  kettle 
he  shook  his  head.  Ostinitsu  looked  at  him  sharply, 
but  said  nothing.  I  had  to  get  up  some  tea  and  ra- 
tion for  the  boy. 

Some  of  the  Indians  went  up  to  the  lookout  with 
us,  taking  along  a  little  spyglass.  Deer  were  visible 
three  or  four  miles  away  on  the  ridges,  passing  west 
and  not  coming  to  the  crossing,  perhaps  owing  to 
the  wind,  which  made  the  lake  a  little  rough.     The 


1906  245 

glass  was  not  very  good,  and  I  could  see  them  only 
when  their  backs  were  above  the  sky  line.  No  deer 
came  across  that  day. 

The  spear  is  a  sharp-edged,  diamond-shaped  blade 
of  steel,  on  a  slender  shaft  three  or  four  feet  long. 
As  soon  as  the  on-coming  deer  are  safely  away  from 
land  the  older  men  from  the  lookout  signal  the  young 
fellows  down  at  the  shore,  and  these  eager  young 
wolves  fairly  lift  their  canoe  over  the  water  for  the 
prey.  A  long  windrow  of  horns,  besides  a  separate 
pile  of  very  large  ones,  were  close  by,  and  each  pair 
must  have  stood  for  four  or  five  does  and  smaller  deer 
killed.  It  is  a  matter  of  policy  that  the  horns  are 
piled  together;  if  they  are  left  about  it  is  understood 
that  the  chief  caribou  spirit  will  be  offended  at  the 
disrespect,  so  that  the  deer  will  scatter  when  they  come 
through  the  country,  and  be  hard  to  get. 

After  a  while,  though  I  was  not  thinly  dressed,  the 
cool  wind  became  too  much  for  me,  and  I  turned  to 
go  down  the  hill.  The  people  laughed,  as  well  they 
might.  Some  of  the  four  and  five  year  olds  were 
about  in  perfect  comfort,  though  wearing  only  one 
scant  garment  of  caribou  skin;  near  half  their  chests 
and  legs  were  bare.  The  people  stand  cold  as  well 
as  Eskimo,  but  cannot  keep  their  working  strength  as 
well  under  starvation. 

Four  or  five  women  had  gone  about  sewing  moc- 
casins, and  I  hoped  that  one  pair  or  another  would 
turn  out  to  be  for  me.  A  pair  indeed!  When  the 
time  came  they  gave  them  all  to  me,  every  pair,  and 
smoked  tongues  and  meat  until  we  were  embarrassed. 
Luckily  I  had  some  half  dollars  for  them,  which  they 
accepted   readily,   examining  the   designs   upon   them 


246  Labrador 

with  pleased  interest.  Most  of  all  they  were  interested 
in  some  small  photographs  of  my  children,  noticing 
with  exclamations  one  of  the  boy  in  an  Indian  head- 
dress of  long  feathers.  They  passed  the  pictures  about 
and  talked  about  them,  but  I  could  not  understand 
much  of  what  they  said.  Soon  Ostinitsu's  quiet  wife 
went  to  her  lodge  and  came  back  with  two  children 
of  eight  or  nine.  Standing  by  the  side  of  Ostinitsu, 
the  children  between  us,  she  said  simply,  "  These  are 
our  children."     She  knew  her  jewels. 

So  the  day  went  on.  Richard  moved  about  con- 
tentedly, approved  by  all.  Indians  like  boys.  His 
share  of  presents  was  not  small.  Few  had  seen  what 
we  were  seeing,  perhaps  none  from  the  outer  world 
of  to-day  —  the  primitive  phase  in  its  unchanged 
estate,  on  this  immemorial  range  of  the  caribou. 
Some  things  that  the  people  had  were  from  white 
hands,  but  the  essential  life  was  the  same;  the  man- 
ners, the  occupations,  the  means  to  a  livelihood,  the 
ancient  belief. 

To  me  they  had  the  civil  deference  of  bred  people 
to  a  guest.  When  I  pitched  away  my  heavy  old 
worn-through,  thin  moccasins,  which,  however,  had 
strong  material  left  in  them,  Pakuunnoh  picked  them 
up,  brought  them  to  me,  and  asked  if  he  might  have 
them,  an  exhibition  of  mere  manners.  He  knew  I 
was  done  with  them.  So  with  a  tin  can  thrown  away 
at  Mistastin  one  year,  it  was  brought  to  us  in  the  same 
way.  From  Richard  and  me,  there  at  Mistinipi,  they 
seemed  to  expect  nothing. 

We  had  meant  to  stay  some  time,  a  week  or  more. 
But  toward  the  end  of  the  day  I  had  time  for  reflec- 
tion and  the  matter  of  the  sickness  in  camp  rose  to  my 


1906  247 

mind.  The  trouble  was  probably  measles,  and  I  had 
had  it,  but  the  boy's  danger  was  serious.  With  peo- 
ple of  his  blood  measles  was  apt  to  be  as  fatal  as  small- 
pox. Indeed  Nahpayo's  young  wife  had  suggestive 
pits  in  her  face,  hardly  healed,  and  this  was  another 
matter.  Richard's  people  had  said  to  me,  "  We  think 
you  will  take  care  of  him,"  but  if  he  was  caught  in 
the  barrens  with  measles  the  result  would  be  almost 
sure.  Moreover,  north  storms  were  now  seasonable 
and  might  bring  heavy  snow  and  cold;  in  truth  just 
this  thing  happened  three  days  after  we  were  out  of 
the  country. 

I  spoke  to  Ostinitsu,  saying  I  was  afraid  for  the 
boy,  and  asked  him  to  send  us  to  the  head  of  the  lake 
by  canoe.  He  seemed  to  appreciate  my  situation,  and 
a  little  later,  at  a  word  from  him,  Pakuunnoh  and 
Puckway  put  in  a  large  rough-water  birch  and  we  were 
off,  all  four  paddling.  The  people  of  the  camp  stood 
upon  the  bank  above  the  line  of  deer  carcasses,  a  silent 
group,  and  waved  us  as  we  moved  away.  A  stiff 
little  sea  was  coming  down  the  lake.  We  moved  into 
it  like  a  battleship,  throwing  high  the  spray,  but  no 
water  came  in.  The  spray  divided  and  fell  outside  in 
a  marvelous  way.  I  had  never  seen  the  like.  We 
made  fast  time,  having  almost  no  cargo  and  strong 
power.  They  put  us  off  at  a  little  eastern  bay  near 
the  end,  where  we  boiled  a  last  kettle  together  and 
shared  what  we  had  —  our  pea-meal  ration  against 
their  deer  tongues. 

The  sun  went  low.     Pakuunnoh  pointed  at  it.- 
"  Shakashtuet  piishum,"  he  said,  "  The  sun  is  set- 
ting," then  pointed  toward  their  camp.     They  must 
be  going.     I  nodded  and  turned  to  the  fire.     I  did  not 


248  Labrador 

want  to  see  them  make  the  miserable  averted  Naskapi 
departure,  especially  after  the  day  we  had  had  to- 
gether, but  I  heard  their  paddles  dip  away  fast  and 
knew  they  were  gone. 

In  a  little,  as  I  bent  over  the  fire  getting  up  more 
tea,  there  came  a  sound  from  the  lake  and  I  looked 
up.  The  big  canoe  was  swung  broad-side,  and  the 
two  Indians  were  waving  their  long  arms  and  whoop- 
ing until  the  echoes  came  back.  For  some  minutes 
it  lasted.  This  was  the  real  Naskapi  good  by  —  to 
friends.  We  sprang  up  and  waved  back,  shouting; 
they  turned  the  canoe,  went  fast  down  the  lake  before 
the  wind,  and  it  was  four  years  before  I  saw  any 
face  of  the  tribe  again. 

In  snug,  sheltered  ground  with  enough  of  wood,  a 
mile  on,  we  made  a  sky  camp  and  were  off  in  the  gray 
of  the  morning.  I  was  anxious  about  the  measles. 
In  the  evening  I  had  singed  everything  we  had  taken 
from  the  Indians  in  the  fire,  by  way  of  sterilizing 
them,  but  we  had  ourselves  been  a  good  deal  exposed 
early  in  the  day.  Whether  Richard  was  worried  I 
never  knew;  we  did  not  mention  the  subject  on  the 
march.  From  the  way  he  held  to  the  trail  from  day- 
light to  dark  I  suspected  that  he  was  thinking. 

It  was  well  that  we  cached  meat  on  the  outward 
trip,  for  not  a  deer  did  we  see  on  the  way  home.  There 
were  many  tracks,  and  doubtless  there  were  some  deer 
to  be  seen  if  we  had  kept  our  eyes  well  out,  but  the 
newer  tracks  were  all  leading  one  way,  to  the  south 
and  west  behind  us.  Our  pace  was  good,  light  as  we 
were,  and  night  found  us  beyond  the  close  hills  on  the 
broad  slopes  off  Long  pond.  A  cold  wind  came  from 
north,  there  was  no  shelter,  and  after  the  shower  of  the 


1906  249 

day  we  were  long  looking  for  a  dry  place  to  lie  down 
on.  In  exposed  places  such  as  we  were  in  one  watches 
the  weather  signs  anxiously  before  dark,  for  the  nights 
are  long  and  there  is  time  between  night  and  morning 
for  great  changes  to  come  on.  Now  the  storms  were 
sudden  and  cold  and  a  foot  or  more  of  snow  might 
come  over  night.  In  the  short  nights  of  summer,  if 
the  signs  are  good  at  dark,  there  is  little  chance  of  a 
bad  change  before  dawn.  By  the  middle  of  Septem- 
ber the  situation  is  different,  and  if  a  norther  should 
come  in  the  night  one  would  almost  surely  have  to 
drive  with  it  until  stopped  by  some  lake,  or  at  best 
come  upon  some  boulder  or  bush  to  get  behind,  per- 
haps for  a  day  or  two,  and  without  fire.  Then  would 
come,  if  one  could  do  it,  a  wallow  of  days  in  snow  to 
the  forks,  without  winter  clothes  and  in  moccasins 
like  blotting  paper.  If  the  boy  should  be  taken  ill 
during  such  a  period  his  chance  would  be  small. 

Most  of  one's  misgivings  are  unnecessary,  but  a 
tremendous  storm  did  come  on  a  few  days  later,  and 
the  barrens  must  have  been  a  wild  place  for  seven  or 
eight  days.  After  all,  a  certain  habit  of  considering 
possibilities  serves'  at  least  to  keep  one's  perceptions 
keen. 

Our  moccasins  were  stiff  with  ice  when  we  got  out 
in  the  morning,  and  we  walked  away  on  the  top  of 
the  frozen  moss.  After  the  sun  came  up  we  began 
to  sink  through.  Our  meat  at  the  Black  Rock  was 
just  prime  by  this  time,  and  we  felt  mere  kings  by  our 
lunch  fire  there.  We  were  having  a  royal  walk ! 
From  there  to  our  last  meat  cache  it  was  wet  and 
stony  and  boggy,  a  hard  walk  of  hours ;  though  at  last, 
tired  but  cheerful,  we  walked  up  to  the  tree  cache. 


250  Labrador 

Now  the  bad  going  was  over,  now  we  would  have  some 
more  of  that  prime  meat;  for  miles  we  had  thought  of 
nothing  but  that  particular  leg  of  caribou.  Instead  we 
had  a  surprise;  not  a  sign  of  it  was  left!  Our  faces 
would  have  done  to  photograph. 

The  carcass  of  the  deer  was  not  far  away  and  we 
went  over  to  see  what  had  happened  to  that.  Before 
we  got  there  a  large  wolf  appeared,  off  beyond  a 
brook,  trotting  briskly  toward  the  carcass.  He  saw 
us,  and  instead  of  stopping,  as  most  animals  do,  kept 
on  and  away  with  only  a  look;  but  before  disappear- 
ing he  did  stop,  at  some  two  hundred  and  twenty  yards, 
and  I  shot  carefully,  elbows  on  knees.  The  broad 
double  muzzle  of  the  gun  lifted  a  little,  and  shut  off 
the  view  for  an  instant,  but  I  could  see  the  wolf  shoot 
high  into  the  air,  then  gather  and  go  over  the  crest 
behind  him  in  a  wabbling  canter.  It  was  bad,  bushy 
walking  in  that  direction,  so,  cross  and  tired,  I  turned 
back  to  the  packs  without  going  over.  Later  the  boy, 
who  had  seen  clearly,  said  he  was  sure  the  beast  was 
hit,  as  he  came  down  in  a  ball  and  took  time  to  get 
up.  I  ought  to  have  gone  over  there.  Anyway,  he 
would  steal  no  more  meat. 

Crossed  in  our  dream  we  ill  naturedly  left  the  place, 
going  on  a  mile  or  two  before  putting  the  kettle  on. 
We  had  food  enough,  and  indeed  the  pea-meal  ration 
was  better  to  travel  on  than  the  meat  would  have  been. 
Mixed  with  a  little  hot  bacon  fat  in  the  corner  of  the 
frying-pan,  and  followed  by  tea,  it  was  the  best  thing 
to  stand  by  one  on  a  hard  road  of  anything  I  have 
ever  had.  It  was  substantially  like  the  German  erbs- 
wurst,  but  with  dried  meat  mixed  in,  a  sort  of  dried 


1906  251 

meat  sawdust.  Whether  dry  or  cooked,  in  soup  or 
cakes,  it  was  always  good,  and  kept  one  going. 

Richard  and  I  were  acquainted  now,  and  talked. 
On  the  first  of  the  outer  road  he  had  been  shy,  with 
little  to  say  but  "  Yessir  V  and  "  No  sir,"  and  had  no 
idea  of  the  way  of  camp  things  Now  he  did  all  the 
camp  work  handily  and  well.  An  early  doubt  on  my 
part  as  to  whether  he  was  a  bit  lacking  or  really  a 
genius  had  passed  away.  He  had  imagination  and 
sensitiveness.  The  caribou  killing  we  had  to  do  hurt 
him.  Curiously,  part  Eskimo  that  he  was,  he  liked 
the  Indians.  At  Mistinipi,  as  we  went  up  the  hill  with 
the  camera  to  leave  them  to  themselves,  he  remarked 
on  their  fine  looks  —  what  good  manners  they  had ! 
How  clean  they  were  in  their  ways  and  cooking,  com- 
pared with  the  Eskimo!  He  had  once  been  out  with 
his  father  and  Eskimo  in  winter,  and  hated  the 
Eskimo  way  of  killing  wounded  deer  with  stones,  to 
save  cartridges.  After  we  left  the  Indians  he  again 
dwelt  upon  their  superiorities  —  what  fine  people  they 
were!  This  from  a  shore  boy  of  Eskimo  blood,  whose 
life  had  been  passed  where  almost  none  but  Eskimo 
passed  the  door,  was  the  last  testimony  one  would 
expect. 

We  shared  everything,  of  course.  At  night  my 
oil  jacket  would  go  down  on  the  moss,  then  the  two 
blankets,  then  the  tent  as  a  coverlet.  Close  together 
we  slept  those  frosty  nights,  under  the  stars  and  the 
waving  north  lights,  each  of  us  as  good  as  a  blanket 
to  the  other.  Then  the  fire  in  the  early  gray,  and  the 
quick  cooking  —  there  was  no  bread  to  make.  We 
ate  the  meat  Indian  fashion  without  salt.     The  scrap 


252  Labrador 

of  bacon  gave  us  all  we  used,  and  the  little  bag  of 
salt  we  had  was  never  opened.  Until  the  small  sup- 
ply of  hardbread  was  out  we  both  had  a  tendency  to 
prig  it  between  meals,  from  keen  starch  hunger.  At 
the  last  the  dingy  crumbs  tasted  plainly  sweet,  a  curi- 
ous fact  that  I  have  seen  noted  somewhere  since.  It 
looked  to  us  as  candy  does  to  a  child. 

Richard's  eyes  were  a  marvel.  My  own  are  apt  to 
dull  a  little  when  walking  long  with  a  headstrap  pack, 
but  he  saw  everything  All  the  game,  without  excep- 
tion, he  saw  first.  He  was  good,  too,  at  keeping  his 
bearings,  and  once,  when  we  had  swung  in  a  long 
semicircle  around  a  hill  and  were  going  back  west, 
put  me  to  flat  discomfiture,  the  worse  that  I  had  dis- 
agreed with  him  sharply.  It  was  a  little  time  before 
I  perceived  that  as  I  was  taking  it  the  setting  sun  was 
exactly  in  the  east.  Perhaps  it  was  well  for  Richard's 
soul  that  I  caught  him  nearly  as  far  wrong  a  little 
later. 

We  both  wanted  to  walk  all  night  on  the  day  of  the 
wolf -looted  cache,  as  it  would  bring  us  to  the  canoe 
by  morning.  I  wonder  to  this  day  if  Richard  was 
thinking  of  what  I  was,  of  being  taken  down  with  the 
Indian  sickness.  But  the  ground  became  rough  and 
hilly  at  dark,  we  could  not  see  our  feet,  and  a  cold 
breeze  and  a  snow  squall  kept  us  hugged  close  under 
some  lucky  little  bushes  where  we  had  had  supper. 
It  was  very  bleak  and  barren  along  there. 

The  hills  were  white  for  an  hour  in  the  morning. 
Before  long  we  crossed  a  commanding  ridge  from 
which  the  walls  of  the  wind-lake  portal,  many  miles 
away,  opened  high  and  imposing.  About  nine  R. 
spotted  a  bear  a  mile  away  plain  against  the  white 


1906  253 

moss.  I  was  disposed  to  let  him  go,  as  he  was  off 
our  course,  but  Richard  was  eager  and  we  turned  that 
way.  Some  bushes  gave  an  approach.  It  was  a  large 
he-animal,  nosing  the  flat  blueberry  vines  on  a  smooth 
level.  I  fired  at  near  a  hundred  yards,  when  he  leaped 
and  ran  fast  for  some  little  trees,  among  which  we 
found  him  dead.  They  are  slow  to  skin,  like  a  beaver ; 
there  is  no  end  of  knife-work.  It  took  a  good  while, 
for  the  bear  was  large,  but  there  was  no  fat  to  mess 
up  with  —  this  year  there  were  no  mice  for  the  bears, 
and  the  meat  was  lean,  tender,  and  sweet.  A  berry 
bear  is  the  thing.  When  at  last  I  straightened  up  from 
the  long  job  of  skinning,  there,  not  three  hundred 
yards  away,  were  two  other  bears,  one  a  large  cub. 
My  films  were  just  out,  to  my  sorrow,  for  there  were 
bushes  near  the  bears  and  we  could  have  gone  close. 
We  waved  our  caps  and  shouted,  and  the  show 
vanished  in  a  twinkling. 

The  skin  and  meat  we  had  taken  were  heavy,  and 
by  the  time  we  made  the  canoe,  about  one  o'clock,  we 
were  well  warmed  up.  The  wind  lake  let  us  by  rather 
decently,  but  once  in  the  river  a  raw  sea  wind  came 
up  the  valley  with  a  chill  which  went  through  us, 
unused  as  we  were  to  sitting  still,  and  we  camped  about 
dark  under  a  wooded  point  not  far  below  the  lake. 
The  sheltered  place  seemed  like  a  tavern  with  cheer, 
after  the  naked  barrens.  A  fine  driftwood  fire  blazed 
long  after  we  were  asleep. 

Now  came  a  little  personal  experience.  In  the 
night  I  awoke  uncomfortable  and  found  myself 
broken  out  on  the  body  just  as  Ostinitsu  had  described 
the  sick  young  man  to  be.  Some  fever  went  with  the 
great  irritation,  and  I  began  to  speculate  on  what  was 


254  Labrador 

coming.  I  had  had  measles,  and  ought  to  be  immune, 
but  remembered  the  pits  on  the  face  of  Napao's  wife. 
Who,  on  the  coast,  could  be  expected  to  take  care  of  a 
smallpox  stranger?  It  would  be  almost  certain  death 
to  any  native  to  do  it.  For  an  hour  or  two  I  thought 
very  hard.  Plans  of  getting  in  some  way  to  Dr.  Gren- 
fell's  hospital  at  Indian  Harbor,  some  four  hundred 
miles  away,  would  not  work  out.  I  had  thought  that 
at  one  time  or  another  I  had  considered  about  all  the 
things  that  could  well  happen  to  one  knocking  about 
in  this  way  —  accident,  starvation,  freezing,  drown- 
ing, or  ordinary  illness,  but  here  was  a  new  idea.  I 
was  never,  I  believe,  more  inclined  to  call  myself 
names  for  wandering  about  at  all  in  such  places.  It 
was  an  unpleasant  situation. 

At  last  I  remembered  some  old  bouts  I  had  had 
with  hives,  heat  rash,  in  hot  weather,  and  that  alkali 
was  the  thing.  It  would  ease  the  impossible  itching, 
whatever  the  cause.  There  was  a  piece  of  old  castile 
soap  in  my  kit,  the  nearest  alkaline  thing  available. 
It  remains  to  be  said  that  before  this  remedy  my 
cause  of  woe  faded  readily  away.  Still  the  circum- 
stance was  not  a  dream,  for  before  I  left  the  coast  the 
nuisance  came  on  more  than  once,  with  fever,  and 
again  shook  my  faith  a  little ;  perhaps  it  was  really  not 
so  uninteresting  a  matter  as  hives.  The  immediate 
cause  on  the  river  was  doubtless  the  unusual  perspira- 
tion from  carrying  the  heavy  unfleshed  bearskin  with 
head  and  feet  attached,  in  addition  to  my  pack. 

Ah-pe-wat,  the  young  man  at  Mistinipi,  died  of  his 
illness,  as  did  the  girl.  It  was  said  afteward  that  some 
of  old  Edward's  tribe  had  carried  up  measles  to  the 
Indians  from  the  shore. 


1906  255 

The  next  day,  the  13th  of  September,  was  our  last 
day  out.  Passing  through  the  great  pools  there  were 
trout  everywhere  even  at  that  late  date;  a  little  far- 
ther down  some  geese  cheered  us  with  their  talk  and 
presence,  and  a  good  many  seal  heads  showed  below 
the  falls.  One  of  the  seals  came  very  near,  almost 
under  the  boat,  near  our  tea  place  at  my  old  roost  of 
July.  Richard  shot  at  it  with  his  forty-four,  now 
taken  out  of  cache  along  the  river,  but  missed.  It 
is  a  curious  thing  that  with  all  his  experience  on  water 
he  was  if  anything  a  little  less  steady  on  it  than  I. 
His  father  had  said  when  we  started,  "  He  will  do 
well  on  the  water,  I  am  sure  of  that,  but  you  may  be 
too  much  for  him  walking."  Not  so.  He  was  un- 
easy as  we  ran  the  slight  rapids  of  the  river  coming 
down,  and  curiously  enough,  I  saw  all  the  water  game 
first,  up  river  and  outside.  He  was,  of  course,  per- 
fectly easy  on  the  large  inlet  where  he  was  at  home, 
though  not  remarkable.  But  on  the  land  he  was  for 
his  age  a  wonder  of  endurance,  courage,  and  all  the 
silent  qualities  that  take  one  over  the  barrens  un- 
starved,  and  make  for  the  joy  of  the  trail. 

At  just  sunset  we  cleared  Assiwaban  Point.  Tide 
and  wind  were  wrong  as  far  as  the  low  point  of  Long 
island,  where  a  stout  clangor  of  geese  saluted  us  in  the 
dark,  and  the  metallic  rush  of  beds  of  unseen  ducks 
sounded  again  and  again  to  the  front.  At  ten  we 
called  out  to  the  sleeping  Winters.  They  had  not  been 
worried;  that  morning  for  the  first  time  the  mother 
had  remarked  that  we  might  be  looked  for  now.  But 
I  was  thankful,  on  the  whole,  to  hand  their  boy  over 
without  harm,  as  thankful  as  I  had  been  for  having 
him.     The   little   bread   upon   the   waters,    sowed   in 


256  Labrador 

carelessness  when  E.  had  had  his  trifles  to  sell  two 
years  before,  and  without  which  I  fancy  he  would  not 
have  thought  of  offering  me  his  son,  had  certainly 
come  back  to  me.  The  trip  was  not  long,  little  over 
two  hundred  miles  as  we  had  travelled,  nor  had  there 
been  any  hardships,  but  considering  all  —  the  season, 
the  ordinary  chances  of  the  way,  and  the  little  plot 
in  the  Indian  matter,  things  might  not  have  gone  so 
well. 

It  was  now  a  run  for  the  steamer  and  home.  It 
ought  to  have  taken  a  fortnight  or  so.  What  it  did 
take  was  forty-two  days  —  six  weeks.  Apropos  is 
the  remark  of  an  old  fisherman  at  House  Harbor,  the 
evening  before  Q.  and  I  caught  the  Virginia  there,  in 
1905.  A  few  men  from  schooners  about  were 
gathered  in  Voisey's  little  house  by  the  stove,  and  some 
one  remarked  that  Skipper  So  and  So  had  got  his 
cargo  of  fish  —  a  "voyage  of  fish,"  as  they  say  — 
and  was  starting  for  home.  Fish  were  scarce  that  year 
and  the  skipper's  good  fortune  was  generally  conceded, 
if  not  envied.  Then  an  old  fisherman  spoke  in :  "  Yes, 
he's  got  his  voyage;  but  he's  not  clear  of  the  Labrador 
yet."  Nor  did  any  demur  at  the  implication.  It  is 
a  coast  of  uncertainties. 

Winter's  fish  were  "  out  of  salt,"  and  had  to  be 
taken  care  of  without  much  delay.  He  would  sail  me 
for  a  day  or  two,  however,  and  he  and  Richard  and 
I  started  the  14th,  after  only  a  night  at  the  house.  We 
worked  our  way  in  a  calm  only  to  Un'sekat,  that  day, 
twelve  miles,  there  to  be  windbound  two  days  by  a 
northwester.  The  house  was  unoccupied  and  wood 
scarce,  but  it  was  a  comfortable  period  and  I  was  glad 


1906  257 

to  have  rest.  The  bear  skull  came  in  for  a  cleaning 
and  W.  scraped  the  skin  and  staked  it  out.  In  the 
night  some  white  foxes  came  nosing  about  and  we 
had  to  cover  the  skin.  The  foxes  would  hardly  go 
away  from  the  light  when  we  opened  the  door.  They 
are  tame,  innocent  things  compared  with  other  foxes. 

W.  talked  about  his  letting  the  boy  go  with  me,  a 
notable  thing  considering  the  coast  feeling  about  the 
interior.  He  had  always  heard  of  me  as  a  "  kind 
man."  If  we  had  been  gone  over  two  weeks  they 
might  have  feared  lest  something  had  happened  to  me, 
"  so  as  to  leave  the  boy  uncared  for."  Without  ac- 
cident to  me  they  "  felt  sure  the  boy  would  be  safe  " 
—  they  were  trusting  enough ! 

By  five  the  second  day  we  parted,  he  for  the  north 
and  I  south  by  canoe.  I  meant  to  camp  about  seven 
miles  on  in  a  little  rock-walled  amphitheater  open  to 
the  south,  where  there  were  Eskimo  circles,  and  a 
little  wood  and  water;  it  was  a  favorite  place  of  mine. 
There  I  did  stop  and  boiled  a  kettle.  The  weather 
signs  were  peculiar;  with  the  letting  down  of  the  north- 
wester it  became  warm,  a  faint  air  from  south  oc- 
casionally stirred  the  surface  and  quite  a  few  stars 
showed  through  overhead.  It  seemed  as  though  the 
thin  overhead  scurf  might  thicken  and  bring  a  little 
warm  rain  and  south  wind,  but  nothing  more.  But 
the  peculiar  feature  was  in  the  northeast.  Behind 
level  gray  clouds  showed  a  long  background  of  an  un- 
usual pale  salmon  color.  In  the  northwest  it  would 
have  stood  for  bright  weather  at  least,  the  color  was 
well  enough,  but  there  seemed  something  not  quite 
usual  about  it,  and  the  clouds  of  the  sunset  quarter 
had  remained  gray.     Still  it  seemed  better  to  be  go- 


258  Labrador 

ing  along  in  the  warm,  calm  night  than  to  be  bound- 
ing about  in  a  northwester,  perhaps,  next  day.  Not 
much  good  weather  could  be  expected  now,  and  what 
there  was  ought  to  be  made  the  most  of.  So,  well 
satisfied  with  the  opportunity  and  my  own  diagnosis 
of  things,  I  put  out  after  supper  on  the  ten-mile 
stretch  to  Tom  Geer's.  It  was  easy  going,  the  oars 
worked  well  and  silently.  A  wonderful  phosphores- 
cence appeared  with  any  stirring  of  the  water.  I  have 
hardly  seen  the  like.  The  whirls  from  the  oars  were 
very  bright.  If  I  had  only  known  it  here  was  one  of 
the  weather  signs,  as  I  knew  later,  of  old  John  Lane, 
who  used  to  say,  "  When  the  water  burns  look  out 
for  wind !  " 

Four  or  five  miles  on  was  a  low,  black  point.  I 
headed  for  it  when  near,  with  seemingly  a  third  of 
a  mile  to  go,  pulling  complacently  along  at  a  good 
rate  and  taking  a  sort  of  pride  in  the  fireworks  I  was 
making  in  the  water.  The  eddies  from  the  oars  were 
wonderfully  bright,  but  faded  fast.  "  A  blaze,  a 
nebula,  a  mist,"  "  a  blaze,  a  nebula,  a  mist "  ..."  a 
blaze,  a  nebula,  a  mist,"  I  was  repeating  to  myself  at 
each  stroke  —  things  go  in  rhythm  when  one  is  row- 
ing alone.  All  at  once  there  was  a  bang  and  I  was  on 
my  back  in  the  bottom  of  the  canoe.  I  had  rowed  full 
speed  into  a  square-faced  rock  and  bounded  back.  I 
put  my  hand  down  instantly  for  water,  thinking  the 
bow  must  be  shattered.  None  came,  nor  did  later, 
though  I  tried  for  it  now  and  then.  Not  the  least 
damage  was  done.  But  one  needs  a  bow-facing  gear 
by  night ;  there  is  no  judging  distances  then. 

By  the  time  I  reached  Geer's,  about  midnight,  the 
sky  had  thickened  and  it  was  very  dark.     I  did  rather 


1906  259 

well  to  find  the  house,  weathered  white  though  it  was. 
No  one  was  there  and  I  hesitated  to  break  the  lock  — 
foolishly,  for  it  was  now  sure  to  rain  soon.  I  was 
sleepy,  my  mind  was  only  half  working;  anyway,  I 
started  along  and  edged  around  the  shore  for  Daniel's 
Rattle.  There  are  several  little  irregular  bays  along, 
and  not  liking  to  get  into  the  wide  outside  run  among 
the  islands  I  worked  slowly  around  all  these  bays,  in 
and  out,  so  as  not  to  miss  the  inside  passage.  There 
is  a  certain  comfort  in  being  on  the  mainland  if  one 
is  driven  upon  shore.  If  I  could  have  gone  straight 
along  past  the  little  bays  it  would  have  taken  much 
less  time,  but  in  such  darkness  there  was  no  doing 
anything  by  landmarks.  It  was  so  dark  that  at  the 
very  oar's  end  I  could  not  see  the  little  white  breakers 
against  the  boulders  without  straining  my  eyes. 

Somewhere  about  two  o'clock  big  drops  began  to 
fall  and  the  wind  struck  like  a  club  from  north.  The 
night's  work  was  over.  Luckily  I  came  in  a  few  min- 
utes to  a  little  rocky  nook  sheltering  enough  level  moss 
ground  for  the  canoe.  There  was  just  room  between 
the  boulders  to  get  through  to  a  most  providential 
landing  place.  The  rock  shore  had  been  steep,  broken, 
and  sharp  edged  for  some  distance.  Under  foot  on 
the  beach  some  white  driftwood  was  visible;  the  first 
thing  was  to  put  three  six-foot  sticks  up  under  the 
canoe  before  they  were  soaked,  for  some  time  there 
would  need  to  be  a  fire,  then  I  took  care  of  the  gun 
and  baggage.  I  lay  on  a  cross  bar  of  the  canoe,  to 
keep  it  down,  and  wrapped  in  blanket,  bearskin,  and 
tent,  got  on  fairly  until  morning.  The  rain  blew 
under  and  things  became  pretty  damp  as  the  hours 
went  on.     At  daylight  it  began  to  snow  hard.     It  was 


260  Labrador 

a  great  storm.  Twenty-six  schooners  along  south- 
ward went  down  that  night  or  were  wrecked  on  the 
shore.  Others  than  myself  had  not  read  rightly  that 
salmon  band. 

There  was  no  having  a  fire ;  the  place,  though  some- 
what sheltered,  was  still  too  much  exposed  to  the  wind. 
Something  had  to  be  done,  the  damp  and  cold  were 
creeping  in.  The  air  was  just  at  freezing,  the  snow 
neither  melting  nor  stiffening.  On  a  ridge  in  sight 
were  some  trees  and  I  made  a  sortie,  but  there  was 
no  dry  wood  there;  the  wind  was  strong,  the  long 
moss  full  of  water.  Back  I  went  soon  with  a  run; 
neither  hands  nor  feet  would  stand  the  wet  cold. 
Deerskin  moccasins  are  as  blotting  paper.  Diving 
under  the  bearskin  I  stayed  a  few  hours  more,  eat- 
ing cold  ration  and  wondering  if  it  was  to  be  a  three- 
day  blow.  If  so,  I  could  not  hold  out  there,  and  with- 
out the  bearskin  I  should  have  been  damaged  as  it  was. 
Somewhere  about  one  o'clock,  I  thought,  the  snow  let 
up,  and  I  got  a  little  fire  started  under  a  tiny  bush 
growing  against  a  rock,  in  a  little  sort  of  hen's  nest 
there.  Soon  there  was  a  good  fire  going  and  I  was 
steaming  before  it.  The  F.  S.  H.  matchbox  and  the 
dry  sticks  had  stood  by,  and  the  fire  went  with  the 
first  match. 

Daniel  Noah's  winter  house  was  not  more  than  two 
miles  away,  and  though  there  was  not  much  chance 
of  his  being  there,  a  house,  after  all,  is  a  house.  It 
was  still  raining  and  blowing,  but  I  could  get  about. 
In  fully  exposed  places  the  wind  was  too  strong  to 
stand  up  in,  so  avoiding  the  open  shore  I  struck  off 
back  through  the  woods,  taking  blanket,  eatables  and 
axe.     Two  swamps  took  me  well  to  my  waist  and  over 


1906  261 

my  matchbox.  Of  course,  as  the  luck  was  going,  there 
was  no  one  at  Daniel's,  nor  was  the  house  itself  much 
of  a  find.  The  windows  were  partly  out,  the  roof 
dripped  all  over,  wood  was  scarce  and  wet,  the  old 
oven  stove  had  holes  in  it.  These  last  I  patched  with 
tin  cans.  An  hour's  steady  firing  and  the  miserable 
thing  was  scarcely  warm,  and  I  was  chattering  and 
wishing  too  late  that  I  was  back  with  driftwood  pile 
and  bearskin.  Things  looked  bad,  with  another  shiver- 
ing night  on.  I  was  overtrained  from  the  inland  trip 
and  hadn't  much  internal  heat.  To  my  surprise,  how- 
ever, after  a  second  hour  of  firing  the  old  stove  glowed 
well,  and  I  smoked  a  pipe  after  supper  in  comfort. 
There  was  a  two  by  six  dry  spot  in  front  of  the  stove, 
the  only  one  about  —  the  Noahs  had  to  have  one  place 
to  stand,  I  suppose.  There  I  put  down  the  blanket 
and  as  soon  as  my  head  was  down  went  off  like  a 
trap,  dead  to  all  things.  In  an  hour  I  waked ;  the  fire 
was  out  and  my  bones  were  fairly  knocking  together. 
One  blanket  at  freezing,  with  wind  blowing  through 
the  house,  is  not  overmuch.  I  got  up  another  fire,  and 
in  an  hour  it  was  out  and  I  woke  chattering  again. 
This  went  on  through  the  night,  which  was  a  good 
bit  more  wearing  than  the  night  before. 

The  wind  let  down  somewhat  by  two.  In  the  even- 
ing it  had  been  stronger  than  ever,  a  tremendous  blow. 
The  house  itself  was  somewhat  sheltered,  but  the  wild 
racing  of  the  water  parallel  with  the  shore  in  front 
was  remarkable  to  hear.  Getting  back  through  the 
swamps  in  the  morning  was  sloppy  work.  I  was 
pretty  sure  the  canoe  would  have  been  blown  away  by 
the  strong  wind  of  the  evening  and  involuntarily 
balked  and  stood  still  just  before  the  place  came  in 


262  Labrador 

sight;  then  with  an  effort  kicked  myself  along.  It 
was  all  right,  and  the  sight  was  decidedly  a  lift.  I 
tumbled  down  the  steep  moss  slope,  slammed  the  canoe 
into  the  water,  threw  my  things  in  and  bobbled  off 
around  the  point.  There  was  wind  still,  but  not  half 
what  there  had  been,  and  with  a  little  cockade  of  a 
spruce  tree  in  the  bow  for  a  head  sail,  to  prevent  yaw- 
ing, I  blew  down  for  Davis  Inlet  at  a  good  pace.  I  had 
been  laid  up  thirty  hours,  with  some  wear,  and  but  for 
the  bearskin  would  have  found  it  hard  to  get  along 
at  all  the  first  night  and  morning.  There  is  a  moral 
about  salmon  streaks  in  the  northeast  and  another  as 
to  summer  clothes  for  freezing  gales.  The  next  year  at 
Hopedale  I  saw  that  northeast  salmon  streak,  men- 
tioned it,  and  gained  prestige  when  a  norther  came  on, 
as  it  did. 

Getting  down  to  Davis  Inlet  the  wider  waters  were 
lively.  Squalls  ran  out  from  the  points  until  I  im- 
agined being  translated  bodily,  and  flakes  of  snow  were 
blowing  about.  The  bearskin  made  a  good  lap  robe, 
tucked  well  up.  There  was  something  of  an  audience 
on  the  wharf,  David  Edmunds  and  Poy  among  them, 
the  best  hunters.  When  they  asked  questions  I  told 
them  I  started  from  Uu'sekat  two  nights  ago,  and  tried 
to  appear  jaunty.  But  they  saw  the  joke.  Rather 
gravely,  however,  they  took  it.  The  ancient  powers 
had  been  abroad  those  nights.  Nor  were  the  days  just 
to  their  liking.  David  and  Poy  especially,  high  ones 
of  the  open,  knew  the  way  of  snow  northeasters,  and 
when  they  carried  up  the  little  canoe  from  the  beach 
they  handled  her  with  a  certain  regard,  as  for  a  horse 
that  had  made  a  good  run. 

The  next  two  days  I  sat  in  the  house,  glad  to  be 


1906  263 

there.  Then  Guy  came  back  from  Lane's  bay  with 
the  Hudson's  Bay  Company  schooner,  which  had  been 
well  mauled  in  the  blow.  Her  bitts  had  pulled  out, 
and  the  cable  had  to  be  carried  around  the  mast. 
Finally  an  empty  trap-boat  was  let  down  from  a  wind- 
ward point  by  a  coil  of  rope  that  happened  to  be  about 
and  the  men  taken  off.  Meanwhile  the  mailboat  came 
to  Fanny's  and  went  back  south  without  me.  Even 
if  I  had  tried  to  keep  on  I  doubt  my  catching  her, 
for  the  weather  continued  too  bad  for  small  boat  travel 
until  after  she  had  gone. 

The  end  of  a  trip  needs  little  elaboration.  A 
schooner  came  up  the  run  and  would  take  me  to 
Fanny's.  It  was  curious,  when  the  three  big,  high- 
booted  Newfoundlanders  climbed  out  on  the  end  of 
the  post  wharf,  to  see  their  worry  about  the  dogs. 
They  held  back,  eyed  the  dogs  on  the  shore,  got  be- 
hind each  other  and  argued  as  to  who  should  go  first. 
The  dogs  seemed  quite  in  the  humor  of  the  situation. 
After  all,  a  row  of  interested  Eskimo  dogs  can  be  sug- 
gestive. The  Newfoundlander's  own  dogs,  a  wellnigh 
vanished  breed  now,  are  wonderfully  like  themselves, 
mild,  strong,  enduring,  a  water  breed  courageous. 

Spracklin's  fish  had  been  washed,  dried  on  his 
smooth  rocks,  and  stowed  aboard.  For  a  week  or  two 
I  wandered  the  island,  somewhat  with  an  eye  for  hares, 
which  had,  however,  been  well  picked  up  by  the  foxes. 
One  day,  without  gun  or  camera,  I  came  close  upon  an 
arctic  fox,  snow-white  and  ready  for  winter ;  he  danced 
and  postured  long  before  his  final  departure. 

In  calm  afternoons  geese  dropped  into  the  little 
ponds  of  the  level  tundra.     I  saw  a  line  of  them  wing- 


264  Labrador 

ing  in  low  one  clay,  and  threw  myself  flat  in  a  sag 
while  they  came  clown  two  hundred  and  fifty  yards 
away.  One  of  them  assumed  guard  while  the  others 
fed  busily  in  the  shallow  pool.  When  the  sentinel 
saw  a  flick  as  I  turned  over  he  spoke,  a  low  quonk. 
Another  took  place  beside  him,  and  the  two  stood 
immovable,  in  double  watch.  The  others  splashed 
and  reached  under  without  reserve,  but  the  two  re- 
mained unrelaxed,  statues  in  gray,  to  the  end.  There 
was  no  getting  nearer,  and  I  fired  a  little  over. 

Snow  buntings  were  blowing  about  the  rocks  every- 
where, the  horned  larks  were  gone,  next  would  be 
snow  and  winter;  the  tremendous  sea  gales  would 
sweep  the  island.  On  the  hills  of  the  mainland,  to 
stay  until  spring,  was  snow  from  the  great  storm. 
The  days  were  mild  though  cool.  I  knew  they  were 
the  last  free  days  in  the  north  that  I  should  ever  have. 

The  gray  old  island,  with  its  ice-cap  smoothed  hills, 
is  the  very  emblem  of  the  unchanging  and  immovable. 
The  sea  bellows  in  vain  upon  its  outer  shores,  against 
stern  walls,  into  spouting  fissures  and  caves,  wrashing 
high  and  recoiling  lowT,  heaving  betimes  its  tremendous 
ice  —  and  the  granite  gives  no  sign.  Yet  where  shall 
be  found  the  enduring?  These  granite  hills,  even,  are 
not  at  rest,  although  the  eye  might  choose  this,  if  earth 
held  the  unchanging,  as  the  place  to  endure  to  the  end. 
The  whole  region  is  rising.  One  steps  or  climbs  across 
fissures  that  are  fresh  to  the  eye.  Above,  about  the 
slopes  of  the  hills,  are  pebbled  beach  lines  where  once 
was  the  sea.  The  weight  of  the  old  ice-cap,  it  may 
be,  bore  down  the  granite  into  the  plastic  mass  of  the 
planet.  Slowly  the  hills  are  returning  to  their  height, 
rising  century  by  century  from  the  dank  sea  depths. 


53  £ 
o  < 

So 


1906  265 

When  the  Norsemen  came  cod  wandered  the  kelp 
where  now  the  irok  blooms  and  the  mitten  flower  bends 
in  the  wind.  Another  day  the  islands  may  again  be 
hills,  the  sea  passages  valleys  with  their  lakes  and 
streams;  and  again,  in  geologic  time,  may  the  ice-cap 
return,  and  the  sea. 

But  through  my  waiting  days  the  Cape  island  lay 
untroubled  in  the  autumn  sunshine,  a  place  where  all 
was  peace,  where  feet  might  saunter  and  mind  might 
drift  in  the  ways  of  their  will.  Ah,  the  sweetening 
air  of  that  long  pause  before  the  storms  of  fall!  For 
the  last  time  these  hills!  We  were  gathering  to  go, 
the  birds  and  I.  But  now  peace,  the  sun-warmed 
moss,  and  the  creatures  that  were.  It  was  a  time  of 
reckoning  for  me,  the  turning  over  of  what  had  been 
in  my  Labrador  years,  the  stringing  of  beads  that 
should  always  a  little  shine.  Some  of  these  had 
seemed  clouded  in  the  gathering,  but  in  the  reverie  of 
those  final  days  they  were  lighted  all.  Though  never 
the  world  again  were  young,  there  had  been  days. 
Coast  and  inland  —  inland  and  coast.  The  early  hard 
days  on  the  mainland,  the  hills  and  valleys  alone,  the 
calm  of  the  noble  bays;  their  silence,  broken  only  by 
the  rise  of  wings;  Tuh-pungiuk  and  Un'sekat  and 
Opetik,  and  the  strong  opposing  sea.  The  rolling 
barrens,  the  hills  of  the  height  of  land.  The  tall, 
grave  people  there,  the  smiling  strong  ones  here;  the 
aurora  and  the  bergs  and  the  innumerable  insect  foe. 
Long  days  and  twilight  nights,  dark  nights  and  stormy 
days ;  the  sunshine  on  the  sea  and  the  white-backed 
eiders'   charge. 

So  my  string  was  strung.  Always  for  me  now 
would  be  the  gray  barrens,  stretching  far  and  on,  al- 


266  Labrador 

ways  the  lakes  and  the  lodge-smokes  on  their  shores. 
Always  would  the  people  watch  the  deer,  always  stand 
silent  at  the  shore,  as  friends  would  wave  as  they  go; 
the  land  be  ever  theirs.  The  light  of  the  days  that 
have  been  never  quite  fails  the  wilderness  traveler; 
his  feet  may  remain  afar,  but  his  mind  returns 

Where  the  caribou  are  standing 
On  the  gilded  hills  of  morning, 
Where  the  white  moss  meets  the  footstep 
And  the  way  is  long  before. 


PUCKWAY 


CHAPTER  IX 
1910 

To  take  one  to  a  far  country,  year  in  and  out, 
even  though  its  people  are  well  worth  while,  something 
of  a  mission  is  needed,  an  objective,  and  with  its  at- 
tainment the  light  which  has  led  is  apt  to  pale.  With 
the  passing  of  1906  I  felt  that  my  shaft  in  the  north 
had  been  shot,  and  so  it  proved.  Revisiting,  indeed, 
followed  in  1907  and  1908,  but  only  to  the  coast  and 
nearer  Assiwaban.  From  1906  my  days  were  bound. 
One  trip  which  followed,  and  worth  mentioning, 
though  its  days  were  not  as  the  old  days,  had,  after 
all,  a  motive,  mainly  geographical. 

Through  the  years  from  1905  to  19 10  I  had  thought 
I  should  like  to  work  out  the  remaining  part  of  the 
Indian  route  to  the  George,  from  Mistinipi  on.  Hav- 
ing done  the  knocking  about  the  country  I  had,  it  seemed 
a  good  finish  to  put  on  the  map  the  whole  route  to 
Indian  House  lake,  the  more  so  that  it  was  doubtless 
the  most  feasible  way  into  the  interior  anywhere  from 
Hamilton  Inlet  up  the  rest  of  the  coast.  After  Mrs. 
Hubbard's  journey  down  the  George,  in  1905,  the  idea 
strengthened  a  little  with  me,  as  her  survey  for  lati- 
tudes afforded  a  convenient  check  line  to  connect  with. 
In  truth,  as  the  Indian  route  was  said  to  swing  to  the 
northwest  from  Mistinipi  narrows,  I  could  not  see, 
from  the  compass  work  I  had  already  done,  how  we 

267 


268  Labrador 

could  well  agree  in  our  positions.  It  seemed  as  if  her 
mapping  of  Indian  House  lake  would  turn  out  a  little 
too  far  south ;  but  it  is  only  fair  to  her  to  say  that  the 
course  of  the  Indian  route  continued  more  nearly  west 
than  I  had  reason  to  suppose,  and  my  compass  courses, 
which  I  finally  did  carry  through  in  19 10,  mapped  out 
in  remarkable  agreement  with  Mrs.  Hubbard's  work. 

As  elsewhere  told,  I  had  visited  Mistinipi  narrows, 
for  the  second  time,  in  1906,  and  on  that  occasion 
photographed  the  lake  from  a  headland  on  the  north 
side  where  the  broad  lake  opens  out,  and  which  com- 
mands the  lake  well  to  the  west  end  near  the  outlet. 
At  that  time  the  northward  migration  of  the  caribou 
was  on,  and  Ostinitsu  and  his  band,  to  the  number 
of  about  twenty-five  all  told,  were  spearing  the  deer 
at  the  east  end  of  the  narrows.  The  beach  was  strewn 
with  carcasses,  and  the  deer  were  still  coming. 

An  interval  of  four  years  had  passed,  when  on  the 
4th  of  August,  1 9 10,  our  party  of  four  reached 
Mistinipi,  camping  on  a  well  shut-off  little  bay  on  the 
north  side,  a  mile  or  two  from  the  east  end  of  the  lake. 
We  had  only  one  canoe  for  the  four  of  us,  two  of  the 
party  walking  the  shores,  and  the  other  two  navigat- 
ing with  the  baggage. 

The  plan  worked  well  on  the  whole,  with  some  in- 
conveniences, the  arrangement  lightening  the  portage 
work,  and  enabling  very  complete  observations  of  the 
country  by  the  foot  party,  which  went  over  the  hills 
and  was  able  to  see  a  good  deal  of  the  country  and 
whatever  signs  there  were  of  game  and  Indians.  In 
all  such  travel,  by  the  way,  it  is  the  man  who  goes 
afoot  who  really  knows  the  country  rather  than  the 
one  who  goes  by  canoe.     The  party  was  made  up  of 


1910  269 

Scoville  Clark,  with  whom  the  trip  was  planned,  and 
George  P.  Howe  and  D.  G.  McMillan,  who  fell  in  by 
invitation  on  the  way. 

The  old  deer  crossing  at  the  narrows  showed  still 
a  lot  of  bleached  horns,  but  the  long  windrow  at  the 
first  camp  of  1906,  a  little  southward,  had  disappeared 
—  of  course  into  the  lake.  The  disposal  counts  as  an 
offering  to  the  powers  that  rule  the  chase ;  without 
some  such  observance  the  surviving  deer  will  be  of- 
fended and  avoid  the  hunters.  Why  the  horns  at  the 
second  camp  were  not  likewise  put  into  the  lake  I  am 
not  quite  sure,  but  probably  because  the  people  were 
there  so  long  a  time  that  the  spirits  animating  the 
horns  had  departed  from  them,  after  which  eventuality 
they  need  not  be  held  in  respect.  A  long  stay  of  the 
Indians  almost  surely  occurred,  for  in  1906  they  had  a 
year's  meat  laid  in  when  I  left  them,  and  would  not 
have  their  usual  motive  for  moving,  that  of  following 
the  deer,  until  at  least  the  next  summer. 

A  strong  deadfall  had  been  built,  probably  for 
wolverenes,  foxes,  and  the  like,  possibly  for  wolves 
too.  A  great  lot  of  broken  up  marrowbones  had  ac- 
cumulated; they  had  been  boiled  and  reboiled.  What 
we  saw  may  have  represented  the  leg  bones  of  a  thou- 
sand deer.  This  of  itself  would  show  that  the  camp 
had  been  kept  there  a  very  long  time. 

We  followed  the  northern  shore  of  the  lake.  There 
are  three  deep  bays  on  that  side  leading  toward  passes 
in  the  hills  east.  In  the  second  or  third  of  these  were 
the  standing  poles  of  a  winter  lodge,  as  if  used  for 
cross-country  travel  in  the  direction  of  Davis  Inlet. 
The  winter  route  to  that  place  is  much  shorter  than 
the  summer  one. 


270  Labrador 

A  good  many  deer  had  summered  over  the  country, 
though  in  a  scattered  way,  but  most  of  them  had  re- 
cently moved  north.  Hunting  with  the  rifle  among 
the  hills  had  gone  on  at  some  time  a  year  or  two  back, 
probably  in  1907,  and  skulls  and  parts  of  skulls  with 
horns  attached  were  rather  frequent  beyond  the  nar- 
rows. Some  of  the  horns  were  fine  specimens,  but 
all  had  been  killed  in  the  velvet,  were  now  weathered 
white  and  porous  and  were  as  light  as  cork.  There 
were  a  few  bear  and  wolf  tracks  in  the  paths,  not 
many,  and  the  bears  were  small. 

The  second  day  on  Mistinipi  McMillan  and  I,  cir- 
cling far  inland  to  flank  the  deep  bays,  missed  the 
canoe  and  walked  by  it.  The  next  thing  we  came  to, 
as  luck  would  have  it,  was  a  chain  of  impassable  ponds 
running  inland  several  miles,  and  these  we  had  to  go 
around,  in  one  of  the  hottest  days  and  the  worst  for 
flies  that  I  remembered  that  year.  We  had  no  lunch- 
eon beyond  a  mouthful,  and  I,  having  footed  it  from 
the  high  portage  nearly  to  the  outlet  of  Mistinipi  with- 
out any  boating,  at  the  same  time  making  my  portages 
with  the  others,  had  more  than  enough  of  it.  Coming 
out  on  a  point  about  the  middle  of  the  afternoon  we 
made  a  strong  smoke,  putting  on  much  moss,  and  be- 
fore long  saw  the  canoe  break  around  a  point  two  or 
three  miles  behind  and  come  on  fast  for  the  smoke. 
Curiously,  just  before  the  canoe  really  did  appear  I 
was  perfectly  sure  I  saw  it  in  another  place.  It  was 
some  deer  swimming  along  a  far-away  shore. 

The  moral  of  the  episode  is,  first  that  one  ought 
never  to  separate  from  the  commissary  without  at 
least  two  rations  in  hand,  and  some  fishing  tackle  — 
a  hook  and  line  at  least.     We  had  a  gun  but  very 


A  MISTINIPI  BEARSKIN 


FLESHING  A  DEERSKIN  WITH  DOUBLE  LEG  BONE  OF  A  DEER 


1910  271 

few  cartridges,  and  if  really  lost  from  the  canoe  party 
might  have  been  a  day  or  two  without  anything  to  eat. 
We  did  have  matches.  Another  thing  to  remember  is 
that  if  two  parties  are  to  meet  on  unknown  ground  it 
may  become  important  for  one  or  the  other,  on  arriv- 
ing, to  put  up  a  signal  visible  from  far.  In  this  case 
we  walkers  were  thrown  back  into  the  country  two 
miles  by  deep,  narrow  bays,  and  though  the  canoe 
stopped  at  an  old  lodge  which  was  visible  enough  to 
us  at  luncheon  time,  and  the  other  men  were  lying  in- 
side it,  even  McM.'s  good  eyes  could  not  detect  any- 
thing more  than  the  white  standing  poles.  If  a  tent 
or  white  blanket  had  been  spread  upon  the  poles  we 
could  have  seen  it  in  the  sunshine  five  or  six  miles 
away. 

As  it  was  we  came  rather  near  going  through  the 
experience  of  getting  a  raft  together  in  a  bad  place 
for  timber,  with  no  axe,  to  get  across  the  ponds.  The 
most  feasible  way  to  do  it  was  to  adopt  McM.'s  sug- 
gestion of  tying  the  raft  together  with  our  under- 
clothes, a  daunting  proposition,  for  such  were  the  flies 
that  we  could  hardly  get  along  with  all  our  clothes  on. 

Toward  evening  —  this  was  the  6th  —  we  came  to 
a  long  chain  of  lakes  leading  northeast  from  the  main 
lake ;  they  had  to  be  crossed  and  all  got  into  the  canoe 
at  once.  It  brought  the  weight  up  to  about  nine  hun- 
dred pounds,  and  this  in  a  fifty-six-pound  canoe,  only 
fifteen  feet  long.  If  the  ratio  of  weight  of  vehicle 
to  cargo  was  ever  brought  lower  I  should  like  to  know 
where. 

There  was  some  question  where  to  look  for  the 
portage  route  at  the  end  of  the  lake.  My  Indian  maps 
of  1905  and  1906  were  out  of  reach  when  I  left  home, 


272  Labrador 

and  I  could  only  remember  that  by  various  Indian  ac- 
counts the  route  swung  somewhat  toward  the  north, 
and  I  had  some  doubt  lest  the  chain  of  lakes  referred 
to  was  the  route.  We  talked  it  over  and  decided  to 
look  along  the  main  lake  for  the  outlet  anyway. 
This  proved  right,  and  a  short  portage  led  to  more 
lakes  stretching  off  west;  these  were  evidently  our 
nearest  way  to  the  George  whether  the  Indians  went 
that  way  or  not.  There  were,  however,  a  good  many 
Indian  signs,  poles,  etc., — "  Metukuf  "  in  the  vernacu- 
lar, about  the  outlet. 

The  outlet  is  a  smart  rapid  which  we  did  not  try 
to  run.  At  the  shore  we  were  met  by  the  most  suffo- 
cating cloud  of  black  flies  I  have  ever  seen.  Eyes 
and  nose  were  instantly  full,  and  we  had  to  make  a 
smoke  in  as  few  seconds  as  possible.  One  can  really 
work  a  good  deal  of  actual  destruction  on  flies  of  either 
kind  by  keeping  a  smart  fire  going.  So  it  had  been 
that  day  earlier  when  Howe  and  I  made  a  mere  wisp 
of  a  fire  on  a  rock  while  waiting  for  the  canoe  to  bring 
up  my  camera,  left  a  mile  behind.  The  water  around 
the  rock  was  calm,  and  we  could  see  the  singed  mosqui- 
toes as  they  floated.  In  about  half  an  hour  they  looked 
to  count  at  least  ten  thousand,  and  there  were  visibly 
fewer  about.  Again,  the  day  before  this,  I  sat  wait- 
ing some  twenty  minutes  for  McM.  to  return  from 
hunting  up  some  other  left-behind  thing,  and  amused 
myself  killing  off  what  mosquitoes  I  could  as  they  lit 
on  my  hands  and  trousers,  and  by  the  time  I  was  done 
they  were  quite  thinned  .out.  Still  I  was  batting  pretty 
fast  for  awhile.  They  will  shower  into  a  broad,  hot 
fire  after  dark  like  a  snowstorm  when  very  thick. 
Heat  is  worse  for  them  than  smoke;  one  can  lie  close 


C 


1910  273 

up  to  a  wide,  thin  fire  and  be  let  alone.  In  a  very- 
hot  sun  they  are  noticeably  inert. 

This  camp,  at  the  foot  of  the  short  rapid,  was  on 
a  smooth,  velvety  piece  of  ground,  in  no  way  sugges- 
tive of  flies,  but  the  place  became  referred  to  always 
afterward  as  Mosquito  Point.  There  was  some  swale 
ground  just  beyond  which  may  have  accounted  for 
the  trouble.  Other  camps  came  to  have  names  that 
were  never  bestowed  as  such;  one  was  the  "Windy" 
camp,  another  the  "  Comfort  "  camp,  but  the  names 
began  as  common  adjectives;  we  never  set  out  to  name 
anything. 

McM.  caught  a  good  namaycush  on  the  fly  in  the 
eddy,  and  shot  an  old  herring  gull  very  handsomely 
next  morning,  across  the  river;  both  went  into  the 
kettle.  When  the  morning  came  I  begged  for  a  Sun- 
day, a  day  off,  for  I  had  had  more  walking  than  the 
others,  and  we  proceeded  to  take  it  easy,  though  the 
calm,  beautiful  morning  was  too  good  to  waste.  H. 
and  I  went  up  a  symmetrical,  smooth  hill  northeast 
and  took  observations.  It  looked  eight  or  ten  miles 
west  a  little  north  to  the  end  of  the  second  lake,  the 
last  one  visible,  and  that  was  evidently  our  best  course 
to  the  George.  While  we  were  about  camp  a  tre- 
mendous wolf  came  to  the  shore  across,  looking  as 
large  as  a  moderate  caribou.  We  were  not  sure  for  a 
moment  but  he  was  a  caribou.  He  passed  without 
hesitation  into  the  strong  water  and  swam  toward  us 
with  head  high.  When  forty  or  fifty  yards  away 
some  one  must  have  moved  —  we  were  somewhat  con- 
spicuous from  being  above  and  on  the  sky  line  —  for 
he  turned  and  swam  back.  Reaching  shore  he  paused 
not  an  instant,  but  took  to  a  lope  and  disappeared.     In 


274  Labrador 

the  water  he  showed  a  grand,  massive  head  and  back, 
and  swam  with  power. 

By  luncheon  time  H.,  who  had  not  walked  much 
for  three  days,  became  uneasy  to  be  off,  and  my  good 
resolves  to  be  prudent  yielded.  We  made  a  small  lake 
and  a  large  one  before  camping,  all  four  in  the  boat, 
and  so  disposed  continued  for  a  week  or  two,  though 
low  in  the  water  and  crowded,  until  we  were  back  at 
the  high  portage  where  our  other  canoe  was.  The 
country  became  flat  and  less  interesting  to  the  west, 
and  the  lakes,  called  by  the  Indians  Kanekautsh,  mean- 
ing probably  sand  lake,1  or  something  of  the  sort,  are 
shallow.  The  lakes  are  rather  stony  than  sandy, 
however,  save  for  a  point  where  the  lodges  were  gen- 
erally placed.  There  were  many  sets  of  standing 
poles.  By  midday,  the  8th,  the  three  lakes  were  be- 
hind. 

At  the  end  of  the  last  one  we  met  a  party  of  twenty 
Indians,  most  of  whom  I  knew,  going  to  the  coast 
from  Tshinutivish.  They  were  Ostinitsu,  Minowish, 
Puckway,  my  old  but  doubtful  friend,  young  Edward, 
of  1906  history,  and  three  or  four  women  and  girls. 
They  met  us  with  civility,  but  we  had  little  to  enter- 
tain them  with,  tobacco  or  tea,  and  I  think  they  were 
disappointed.  At  the  post  we  had  been  told  that  they 
were  all  near  the  coast,  and  we  had  taken  nothing  for 
them.  Off  they  went,  in  an  hour  or  so,  we  going  the 
other  way  on  foot  with  a  man  and  boy  who  were  re- 

1  Various  Indians  from  other  regions  have  seen  no  other  mean- 
ing in  the  name,  though  not  at  all  sure  of  this  one.  I  have 
thought  myself  it  might  follow  Kaneiapishkau,  rocky  point  lake, 
and  Neikupau,  brush  point,  but  a  southern  Indian  or  two  I  have 
asked  about  it  have  doubted  this.  Ne,  or  in  English  sounds  nay, 
is  a  point. 


NIJWA,  DRESSED  WHOLLY  IN  CARIBOU  SKINS 


1910  275 

turning  to  Tshinutivish,  six  or  seven  miles  northwest- 
erly. Our  guide  was  not  enthusiastic  about  our  go- 
ing along,  though  as  a  matter  of  course  we  would 
naturally  pass  his  place  when  we  moved  camp.  But 
as  the  river  was  hard  to  travel,  having,  as  various 
Indians  had  explained,  many  rapids,  we  decided  merely 
to  make  an  afternoon  walk  to  Tshinutivish  and  back 
and  then  return  to  the  coast. 

Our  guide  took  us  a  mile  west  to  a  rocky  hill  prom- 
ontory and  pointed  out  Tshinutivish  Hill,  still  some 
miles  away.  The  word  means  little-long-brain,  and 
has  a  fair  basis  of  resemblance.  When  the  man 
started  off  I  told  him  we  would  go  too.  He  took  it 
well  enough,  but  the  walk  was  a  ludicrous  affair.  Our 
Indian,  I  imagine,  took  his  course  with  the  idea  of 
looking  for  game  on  his  way,  or  perhaps  it  was  his 
sense  of  humor  that  inspired  him;  at  any  rate,  he  led 
through  more  swamps  and  over  more  bad  ground  gen- 
erally than  we  had  seen  for  a  long  time.  He  had 
given  me,  for  one,  a  pretty  sharp  walk  to  the  lookout 
hill,  though  I  kept  up  well  that  far.  Now,  with  his 
long  legs,  he  made  a  spectacle  of  all  of  us  in  the 
swamps  and  bushes.  H.,  very  near  sighted,  had 
broken  his  only  pair  of  glasses,  and  wearing  a  net 
too  could  not  see  the  ground,  and  was  soon  out  of 
sight  behind.  We  were  in  a  long  procession.  Now 
and  then  I  called  to  the  man  not  to  hurry,  that  the 
doctor  could  not  see;  then  he  would  smile  gently  and 
pause  a  little.  He  stepped  slowly  with  his  thin  legs 
and  without  effort,  but  at  no  time  were  we  really  in 
the  running  at  all.  The  young  boy  had  no  trouble 
keeping  up,  but  circled  about  like  a  puppy.  Showers 
came,  one  long  and  effective,  and  we  were  wet  and  done 


276  Labrador 

up  by  the  time  we  got  to  the  river.  We  were  loaded, 
all,  into  a  fine  canvas  canoe,  myself  distinguished  by 
being  permitted  one  of  the  two  paddles,  and  were 
soon  across  the  Tshinutivish  estuary. 

Several  persons  came  down  from  the  lodges,  one 
a  barefooted  man  of  some  presence,  in  red  leggings. 
Of  course  my  Indian  words  failed,  as  they  generally 
do  with  Naskapi  I  have  not  talked  with  before.  I 
tried  to  say  we  wanted  to  sleep  there.  The  word  was 
right  enough,  nipan  it  is  in  at  least  three  kindred  dia- 
lects, but  here  it  looked  as  if  it  meant  not  to  sleep,  but 
to  get  married.  There  was  a  roar  from  the  men,  and 
disturbance,  with  some  scattering,  among  the  women. 
A  little  knowledge  is  a  dangerous  thing. 

Most  of  the  people  drifted  back  to  the  lodges.  We 
were  wet  and  getting  cold.  Finally  I  got  at  the  older 
man,  explained  that  we  could  not  go  back  that  night 
and  wanted  shelter.  He  pointed  to  his  lodge  and  said 
we  could  go  there.  Presently  we  went  in.  It  was  a 
matter  of  course,  anyway,  I  imagine.  The  lodge  was 
large,  of  near  fifty  poles,  with  seven  or  eight  persons 
inside,  mostly  women  and  children.  It  would  have 
held  twenty  persons,  I  should  say,  sleeping  as  they  do, 
like  spokes  of  a  wheel,  with  feet  to  the  fire  in  the 
middle.  One  side  of  the  tent  was  given  to  us  visitors. 
We  took  off  more  or  less  of  our  wet  things  and  hung 
them  to  dry. 

Presently  a  white  cloth  went  down  in  front  of  us, 
the  size  of  a  towel,  and  a  few  ordinary  glazed  ware 
dishes,  followed  in  time  by  some  extremely  good 
boiled  whitefish.  Dried  caribou  meat,  equally  good, 
was  handed  about,  and  tea.  After  some  rummaging 
a  little  salt  was  found,  a  thimbleful  or  two;  they  do 


1910  277 

not  eat  it  themselves  as  a  habit.  Our  host  tried  to 
talk,  but  I  could  not  make  much  of  it  and  he  gave  up 
disgusted.  He  was  mainly  concerned  about  the  deer 
migration.  I  was  sorry  to  have  to  tell  him  that  the 
deer  seemed  scattered  and  not  very  many. 

Their  outlook  for  the  winter  seemed  bad;  the 
scaffolds  were  low.  All  the  men  looked  hard  worked, 
the  women,  on  the  other  hand,  fuller  than  when  I  saw 
them  at  Mistinipi  in  1906.  So  it  goes,  one  side  of  the 
house  or  the  other  is  always  having  the  worst  of  it. 
In  1906  the  men  were  fat  and  the  women  thin  and 
overworked  upon  the  abundant  and  easily  got  meat 
and  skins  of  the  migration. 

After  supper  the  neighbors  came  in,  mostly  women 
whose  men  had  gone  to  the  shore.  My  old  acquain- 
tances of  1906,  every  one,  brought  presents  of  meat 
and  skins  and  moccasins,  nor  had  they  lost  their  pleas- 
ing manners  I  remembered.  We  could  only  thank 
them  then,  having  brought  nothing   from  our  camp. 

What  went  on  in  the  course  of  the  evening  brought 
to  us  as  real  a  phase  of  the  primitive  life  as  I  had  seen. 
While  we  were  eating  the  hostess  was  roasting  large 
whitefish  for  the  others,  on  spits  run  through  them 
lengthwise.  They  were  leaned  at  an  effective  angle 
over  the  fire.  The  children  meanwhile  chewed  as  they 
would  at  enviable  smoked  deer  meat,  such  as  only 
those  of  the  life  know.  There  was  no  vegetable  food; 
whitefish  and  dried  deer  meat  were  all. 

We  were  given  skins  and  blankets  for  the  night. 
The  puckered  deerskins  of  the  lodge  dripped  a  little  as 
it  came  on  to  rain,  and  I  had  to  wriggle  about  for  a 
dry  place.  Some  one  kept  a  little  fire,  putting  on 
wood  when  necessary,  and  we  were  wholly  comfort- 


278  Labrador 

able.  Breakfast  was  of  dried  meat  boiled.  By  the 
time  it  was  done  with  the  sun  came  out  and  we  wan- 
dered about  the  place. 

1  Howe  particularly  pleased  the  old  women,  though 
nothing  could  be  said  between  them.  McMillan,  with 
his  gift  for  boys,  had  his  following  of  them  there  as 
at  home,  Clark  wandered  at  large,  and  helped  me 
change  films.  On  my  part,  I  used  the  camera  as  best 
I  could.  The  tension  of  the  time,  with  forty  Nas- 
kapi  about,  was  plain  upon  most  of  our  unaccustomed 
party;  I  felt  it  myself,  and  after  I  was  pretty  well 
around  with  the  kodak,  one  of  my  friends,  and  of  great 
Eskimo  experience  at  that,  came  to  me  and  said  with 
growing  intensity,  "  Now  we've  stayed  over  night  and 
we've  seen  everything,  you've  got  your  photographs  — 
let's  go!" 

I  photographed  one  quiet,  oldish  man,  using  my 
spectacles  to  see  the  focusing  scale  with.  He  reached 
out  apologetically  for  them  and  tried  them  on  the  cloth 
of  my  sleeve.  His  face  brightened  to  see  so  well,  and 
he  handed  them  back  a  little  wistfully.  I  explained 
that  they  were  all  I  had.  Later  I  remembered  that 
there  were  more  in  my  kit  at  camp,  and  on  leaving 
him  to  step  into  the  canoe  I  pulled  them  out  of  my 
pocket  and  handed  them  to  him.  I  like  to  remember 
his  look.  A  beggarly  gift  in  a  way,  yet  something 
after  all  for  one  whose  eyes  have  failed. 

Almost  at  once  came  running  good  old  Nijwa,  to 
whom  on  old  scores  I  owed  more  than  any  mere  spec- 
tacles, came  running  for  a  pair  too,  but  I  had  to  tell 

1  Dr.  Howe  took  a  turn  through  the  camp  professionally,  for 
which  the  Indians  expressed  appreciation  in  reporting  our  visit 
at  Chimo  afterward. 


A  FOOD  SCAFFOLD 


CRUSHED  MARROWBONES   FROM  PERHAPS  A  THOUSAND 

DEER 


1910  279 

her  I  had  no  more.  In  truth,  I  ought  to  have  sent 
my  last  pair  back  to  her  from  oiir  camp. 

We  were  soon  off.  All  the  people  gathered  at  the 
shore  and  stood  silent  as  we  started,  waving  as  we 
made  the  distance,  as  is  their  custom  to  guests.  Our 
host  of  the  night  was  with  us,  also  our  guide  of  yes- 
terday, and  two  boys,  their  sons.  I  had  told  them 
that  if  they  would  come  over  I  would  give  them  some 
silver  I  had. 

Tshinutivish  is  a  few  miles  down  from  the  head 
of  Mushauau  nipi,  Barren  Ground  lake.  There  was 
an  Hudson's  Bay  Company  post  in  the  little  estuary 
under  the  hill  at  one  time,  but  the  expense  of  supply- 
ing it  was  too  great,  the  river  below  being  very  hard 
to  ascend.  It  has  no  important  falls,  but  a  tremen- 
dous incline  leading  down  a  thousand  feet  or  more. 
John  McLean  brought  up  a  heavy  boat  about  1840, 
and  his  discovery  of  the  Grand  Falls  was  made  from 
Chimo  by  way  of  this  lake.  Erlandson,  prior  to  Ale- 
Lean,  doubtless  knew  it  well.  Mrs.  Hubbard  passed 
it  in  1905,  Dillon  Wallace  later  the  same  year. 

The  Kanekautsh  lakes  we  had  traversed  were  doubt- 
less known  to  the  people  of  the  former  post,  but  it  is 
not  likely  that  they  went  far  east,  and  our  journey 
was  almost  certainly  the  first  that  has  been  made  by 
whites  from  the  coast  to  the  George  itself,  certainly 
the  first  of  which  there  is  record.  The  best  of  the 
country,  however,  is  the  belt  explored  by  Quackenbush 
and  myself  along  the  height  of  land.  With  its  beau- 
tiful white  moss  hills  and  fine  lakes  it  is  one  of  the 
best  wild  places  left  anywhere.  But  for  the  mosqui- 
toes it  would  be  a  rare  place  in  which  to  travel,  as  has 
been  elsewhere  intimated;  indeed,  but  for  their  most 


280  Labrador 

effective  guardianship  of  the  shore  the  inland  would 
doubtless  have  been  explored  long  ago.  As  it  is,  a 
warm  weather  trip  there  merely  for  pleasure,  as  one 
ordinarily  goes  to  wild  places,  is  not  worth  while. 

It  was  on  the  9th  of  August  we  left  Tshinutivish, 
a  sunny,  cool  day.  The  Indians  took  us  always  over 
high,  firm  ground,  if  a  little  roundabout,  consulting 
now  and  then  how  they  would  better  go,  and  keeping 
us  well  out  of  swamps  and  calm  fly  pockets.  The 
two  men,  who  may  have  been  brothers,  talked  with  a 
pleasant  rather  rapid  utterance  much  of  the  way. 
They  were  discussing  the  deer  situation,  with  them  all 
in  all,  and  were  anxious.  The  season  was  well  on  and 
there  was  no  sign  of  the  deer  coming  together.  I 
would  have  given  much  to  be  able  to  understand  all 
they  said;  the  epic  of  the  life  was  in  it.  There  were 
a  good  many  deer,  the  country  over,  but  by  one  of 
their  mysterious  impulses  they  might  all  vanish  and 
go  a  hundred  or  two  miles  as  if  in  some  wireless  way 
the  word  had  been  passed  among  them.  The  people 
had  little  food  ahead.  By  the  turn  of  the  year  the  fish 
would  go  dormant  in  deep  water  and  the  desolate  snow 
barrens  would  be  lifeless.  They  could  keep  to  the  east 
side  of  the  country  and  escape  the  worst  by  falling 
upon  the  trading  posts,  but  the  country  on  that  side 
was  empty  of  deer  now,  and  had  not  had  many  since 
1903.  Moreover,  for  the  whole  population  to  come 
upon  outside  resources  would  be  a  strain  on  the  usual 
coast  supply  of  provisions.  On  that  side  of  the  coun- 
try there  was  little  fur,  moreover,  to  pay  for  their 
food.  Grave  questions  these,  and  the  lives  of  many, 
women  and  children  and  men,  depended  on  the  judg- 
ment of  a  few  older  heads.     No  wonder  they  make 


1910  281 

their  offerings  to  the  powers  that  can  either  withhold 
the  deer  entirely  or  send  them  in  thousands  to  cover 
the  hills ! 

As  we  walked  and  talked  a  doe  and  fawn  took  our 
track  somewhere  behind,  and,  caribou  fashion, 
followed  us  along  not  far  back,  stepping  high  and 
lightly  and  beautiful  in  the  sunshine,  starting  and  stop- 
ping ready  to  flee.  When  they  saw  us  turn  and  look 
they  halted,  and  when  an  Indian  went  back  for  a  shot 
they  took  themselves  safely  away. 

Arrived  at  the  lake,  we  got  out  our  kit  and  cooked 
for  all.  The  Indians  had  cooked  for  us,  now  we 
cooked  for  them.  Our  good  pemmican  they  appreci- 
ated, and  the  bread  and  tea.  We  were  all  leisurely, 
there  was  time  and  sunshine,  and  the  day  was  ours. 
When  the  meal  was  over  I  shook  out  my  bags  of  odds 
and  ends  and  found  the  silver.  They  looked  it  over, 
talked,  and  were  cheerful.  From  inside  their  coats, 
after  all  seemed  done,  they  pulled  out  little  fawn  skins 
for  us,  and  I  had  to  scrape  together  the  last  few  dimes 
to  meet  the  occasion.  Then  casually  and  without 
words  they  rose  and  strolled  away.  I  set  my  camera 
scale  and  waited  for  their  figures  to  rise  upon  the  hori- 
zon. Arriving  there,  each  Indian  mounted  one  of  the 
large  boulders  which  stood  sharp  against  the  sky  and 
all  waved  high  their  long  arms  for  a  little.  We  waved 
in  return  and  they  vanished. 

There  was  nothing  more  for  us  at  Kanekautsh,  and 
we  departed,  still  four  in  the  small  canoe.  We  were 
anxious  to  be  over  the  large  lakes ;  the  bays  were  deep, 
the  country  flat  and  scrubby  and  not  very  good  to 
travel  afoot.  There  was  some  forty  miles  of  large- 
water  navigation,  broken  by  three  short  portages,  to 


282  Labrador 

the  head  of  Mistinipi.  At  the  east  end  of  the  first 
lake,  McM.  and  I  took  a  couple  of  time-sights  for 
longitude,  the  most  valuable  sights  of  the  trip.  Howe 
had  taken  two  double  altitudes  at  Mosquito  Point  on 
the  7th,  but  the  meridian  one  was  doubtful.  A  pan 
of  bacon  fat  is  not  bad  for  a  horizon  when  the  sun 
is  warm  enough  to  keep  it  fluid,  but  there  was  air 
enough  stirring  to  riffle  its  surface  whenever  the  job 
came  to  a  contact.  The  worst  was  mosquitoes,  drop 
ping  into  the  pan  in  droves  and  descending  upon  PL's 
succulent  face  and  hands  whenever  the  breeze  let  up. 

The  "  red  sun  "  was  plain  enough  to  catch,  com- 
ing direct,  but  the  reflected  one  through  the  green  glass 
was  hard  to  find,  and  between  wind  and  flies  the  ob- 
servation was  doubtful.  It  was  an  inhuman  spectacle 
—  H.,  the  sensitive  one  of  us  to  flies,  jumping  with 
torture,  but  holding  himself  desperately  to  the  sacrifice, 
looking  to  the  last  for  a  green  sun  in  a  frying  pan! 

At  Kanekautsh  the  time-sights  were  quickly  made, 
and  we  kept  on  up  the  large  lake  until  the  sun  was 
well  under.  Then  a  curious  episode  occurred. 
Ahead  less  than  a  mile  a  canoe,  which  we  took  for 
one  of  Ostinitsu's,  or  possibly  of  strange  Indians, 
came  around  a  point  and  made  directly  our  way,  pres- 
ently swinging  so  as  to  cross  our  course  a  quarter  of 
a  mile  ahead,  but  going  steadily  and  fast.  We  could 
see  no  paddles  in  the  underlight,  and  some  one  ap- 
peared to  be  standing.  Then  we  saw  that  it  was  nearer 
than  it  had  seemed  and  that  there  was  something 
wrong,  and  in  truth  weird  about  it.  Whatever  the 
manifestation  was  it  paid  no  attention  to  us.  By  this 
time  we  were  all  mystified  and  at  a  loss.  Once  it 
was  by  we  turned  in  chase,  and  before  long  saw  that 


1910  283 

it  was  simply  a  huge  pair  of  antlers  carried  by  a  stag 
low  down  in  the  water.  Soon  our  four  paddles  over- 
hauled him,  and  as  we  needed  meat  McMillan,  in  the 
bow,  killed  him  neatly  near  the  shore. 

The  illusion  of  a  canoe,  and  then  the  impression  of 
something  outside  one's  daylight  experience,  had  been 
remarkably  definite  and  identical  with  us  all.  If  the 
apparition  had  passed  behind  a  point  in  the  first  eight 
or  ten  minutes  we  should  always  have  counted  it  a 
canoe,  after  that  heaven  knows  what.  We  should  have 
had  something  to  argue  about  for  all  time. 

This  was  the  only  large  game  shot  during  the  trip. 
We  were  fresh  meat  hungry.  The  liver  bore  our  first 
onslaught;  it  would  not  do  to  say  how  many  pounds 
we  ate  before  noon  next  day,  when  we  started  on 
again.  The  liver  cannot  well  be  bettered  in  summer, 
however  in  winter,  and  even  then  the  deer's  barren 
ground  diet  of  starchy  white  moss  may  maintain  its 
quality.  In  southern  regions  the  deer  kind  change 
wholly  as  the  snow  deepens,  the  liver  becomes  blue, 
knurly,  and  bad  to  eat.  So  even  with  the  solid  meat 
then,  that  of  the  woodland  caribou  at  least  becoming 
hard  and  black  after  long  feeding  on  the  old-men's 
beards  of  tree  moss;  the  flesh  then  smells  of  fermented 
moss,  and  does  not  keep  well ;  even  pickled  it  spoils 
soon  unless  the  bones  are  taken  out. 

For  a  few  days  our  meat  improved,  until  the  solid, 
thick  collops  that  we  roasted  on  sticks,  each  for  him- 
self, seemed  beyond  anything  we  had  ever  fallen  upon. 
Clark  and  I  had  them  without  salt,  Indian  fashion, 
and  were  sure  they  were  best  that  way.  With  time 
to  lie  about  and  give  one's  self  up  to  the  business  of  di- 
gestion there  seems  no  limit  to  the  amount  one  can 


284  Labrador 

eat  and  the  frequency  with  which  one  can  turn  to  it 
again.  But  one  cannot  play  anaconda  and  do  hard 
traveling  at  the  same  time.  When  steady  on  the  road 
one  needs  more  concentrated  food,  not  much  of  it  at 
a  time,  and  better  if  what  there  is  of  it  is  comparatively 
indigestible. 

That  year  we  had  good  fortune  on  sea,  land,  and 
lakes.  From  Turnavik,  where  the  Invermore  put  us 
out  in  disappointment  at  her  untimely  turning  back, 
to  the  foot  of  Kanekautsh,  whatever  wind  blew  was 
with  us.  Now,  going  eastward  again,  we  had  no  head 
wind  of  account  all  the  way  to  Davis  Inlet,  near  two 
hundred  miles.  Never  was  such  persistent  luck. 
Still,  with  the  little  canoe,  it  was  kittle  work  crossing 
large  bays.  Mostly  we  followed  far  in  and  around, 
for  the  boat  was  like  a  log,  and  the  shorter  waves 
passed  from  end  to  end  without  lifting  her.  Some- 
times the  temptation  to  cut  across  a  bay  was  too  much, 
and  then,  sometimes,  we  needed  all  our  little  free- 
board, all.  If  a  strong  push  of  wind  had  followed  us 
a  mile  we  would  have  filled.  There  was  little  or  no 
room  to  bail.  Howe  and  Clark  sat  on  the  bottom 
with  light  packs  actually  laid  upon  their  legs.  What 
they  would  have  done  if  things  had  gone  wrong  is 
not  too  easy  to  see.  I  was  uneasy  for  myself  at  times, 
though  high  up  at  the  steering  paddle. 

A  secondary  object  of  the  trip,  after  the  carrying 
the  Tshinutivish  route  through,  was  to  look  up  the 
large  lake  on  the  head  of  Mistastin,  I  thought  we 
could  find  it  without  much  trouble,  from  what  Indians 
had  told  me.  We  left  the  second  lake  east  of  the 
height  of  land  August  13th,  going  afoot  for  the  high- 
est hill  in  sight,  some  six  or  eight  miles  away  and 


1910  285 

somewhat  west  of  south.  There  had  been  some  dis- 
cussion as  to  having  time  enough.  The  rest  of  the 
party  feared  missing  their  October  engagements.  I 
demurred,  suggested  their  keeping  on  to  the  coast,  and 
urged  them  to  do  so,  but  to  leave  me  the  small  canoe 
at  the  high  portage  to  get  out  with ;  it  was  only  twenty 
miles  away.  Finally  they  decided  to  stay,  and  we 
started  for  Mistastin  with  two  or  three  days'  supplies. 
It  was  about  two  o'clock  in  the  afternoon. 

By  five  or  six  we  reached  the  far  hill,  and  Mistastin, 
a  large  spreading  lake,  was  plainly  visible  off  to  the 
south.  We  made  a  sky  camp,  with  good  northern 
lights,  in  a  wooded  valley  on  toward  the  lake.  It  was 
nearer  to  a  non-mosquito  night  than  any  other  we  had 
on  the  plateau  save  at  Tshinutivish.  The  way  on  to 
the  lake  was  poor,  along  a  rough  valley  side,  with 
flies  and  bushes,  and  only  occasional  deer  paths  to 
follow.  Near  the  lake  McM.  concluded  to  take  a 
half  day  off,  and  the  rest  of  us  kept  on  three  or  four 
miles  to  a  remarkable  trap  headland  where  I  had  been 
told  the  old-time  Indians  got  their  arrow-head  material. 
There  was  some  good  travel,  alternating  with  half- 
swampy  levels,  where  grew  larch,  spruce,  and  alders, 
and  we  slopped  through  two  barely  passable  streams. 
At  the  headland  Clark's  moccasins  went  through. 
Howe  and  I  kept  on  up  the  hill.  The  southwest  side 
was  of  organ-pipe  basalt,  with  a  fine,  even  talus  slope 
below,  the  northeast  corner  a  flintish-looking,  light- 
colored  trap,  in  small,  flat  slabs.  Service  berries  were 
plenty  on  top  and  bear  tracks  to  match.  The  western 
foot  of  the  hill  is  skirted  by  a  game  trail,  where  the 
deer  have  to  go  in  flanking  the  west  end  of  the  lake. 
After  two  hours  of  exploration  we  returned  to  Clark 


286  Labrador 

and  started  back  north.  I  held  the  way  unnecessarily 
over  swampy  ground  east  of  our  outgoing  track,  and 
carelessly  came  out  quite  a  way  east  of  the  baggage. 
Turning  westerly,  Clark  soon  sighted  McM.  on  a  far 
sky  line,  concerned  about  us,  for  it  was  getting  dark. 

We  made  a  mile  or  so  north  and  camped  open  to 
the  sky  again,  on  the  very  crest  of  the  country,  the 
wide  moss  hills  of  the  height  of  land.  The  northern 
lights  were  remarkable.  They  shifted  over  us  for 
hours  in  bands  and  curtains,  looking  marvelously  near. 
I  venture  that  one  of  the  great  festoons  hung  within 
three  or  four  hundred  feet  of  us. 

Westerly  from  Mistastin  the  country  is  low,  and  in 
places  unusually  well  timbered  with  straight  larch  and 
spruce.  One  could  build  canoes  and  rafts  at  will. 
The  great  flow  down  Mistastin  valley  anciently  is  ac- 
counted for  by  this  wide  depression  at  its  head.  The 
headland  we  had  visited  is  the  striking  remnant  of  a 
great  erupted  dike  which  has  been  torn  through  from 
west.  I  had  seen  porous  gray  basalt,  probably  from 
this  dike,  about  the  Assiwaban  forks  for  years  with- 
out knowing  its  source.  The  Mistastin  river  takes  the 
course  of  a  great  Z  from  the  lake  to  the  Assiwaban, 
with  a  deep  canon  and  high  falls.  The  lake  itself 
is  probably  at  least  twelve  miles  long  and  four  or  five 
wide,  with  bold  shores  everywhere  save  at  the  west 
end.  A  high,  long  island,  looking  eruptive,  rises  in 
the  west  half,  the  rest  of  the  lake  being  open.  It  is 
the  finest  piece  of  water  I  have  seen  in  the  north- 
east, though  not  really  very  large ;  nothing  of  it  would 
seem  to  have  been  known  before. 

We  took  a  straightish  course  back,  making  one  high 
lift   but    escaping   many   ridge-crossings,    and   saving 


AT   DAVIS    INLET 


A  DEAD   FALL,  MISTINIPI,   1910 


1910  287 

some  actual  distance  over  our  outward  trip.  But  I, 
for  one,  was  tired;  the  last  few  miles,  though  with 
only  a  moderate  pack,  dragged  a  good  deal.  I  had 
missed  a  good  deal  of  sleep  when  the  others  were  doing 
well.  Once  back  at  our  base  camp  I  slumped  down 
limp  while  the  others  cooked  caribou.  We  all  had  a 
long  afternoon  of  lying  about. 

Next  day  we  were  off  for  the  coast,  all  in  tune  and 
surprisingly  springy.  Caribou  collops  had  picked  us 
up.  We  passed  several  ponds  quickly,  half  running 
the  portages.  At  the  kettle-boiling  on  a  little  pond 
along  came  Ostinitsu,  with  two  other  Indians  and  a 
boy;  the  rest  of  his  party  had  taken  a  more  westerly 
route.  The  little  party  spent  an  hour  with  us  and  were 
off  west.  At  dark  we  were  well  toward  the  high 
portage. 

We  had  cached  two  pieces  of  bacon  near  the  top  of 
the  portage,  one  in  a  tree  and  the  other  in  a  cold  pond, 
and  were  interested  to  see  what  had  happened  to  them. 
The  weather  had  been  far  from  cold,  and  after  the 
sixteen  days'  absence  we  had  not  much  hope  of  the 
water  bacon.  Indeed  it  was  slimy  and  pretty  bad, 
though  the  inner  part  would  have  done  at  a  pinch. 
The  outside  would  have  needed  real  starvation  for  a 
sauce.  The  tree  bacon,  which  had  escaped  enemies 
from  above  and  below,  seemed  to  have  actually 
sweetened  in  the  cool,  clean  air,  and  was  rather  im- 
proved. 

The  Natua-ashu  gave  us  a  cuffing,  a  northwester 
came  on  as  we  started  in.  We  kept  close  to  the  north 
shore  for  safety,  but  the  small  canoe  Clark  and  I  had 
required  bailing.  We  held  on,  riding  for  a  fall ;  there 
was  little  to  risk  at  this  stage  of  the  trip.     At  the 


288  Labrador 

very  last  point  was  a  little  hook  bight  beyond  which  we 
would  be  safe.  I  had  not  cared  to  go  out  around 
far,  with  our  low  freeboard,  and  was  keeping  well  in, 
when  in  the  bight  three  large  waves  came;  if  there 
were  more  behind,  things  would  go  hard.  We  tried 
to  turn  the  point,  a  mistake  —  I  should  rather  have 
driven  straight  ashore.  A  squall  kept  the  waves  com- 
ing, actually  broaching  the  larger  canoe  full  into  the 
trough,  without  filling  her,  however.  Our  fate  was 
different,  the  boat  filled,  turned  over  instantly,  and 
we  had  to  swim  for  it.  There  was  no  trouble  get- 
ting ashore,  but  the  rifle  and  other  sinkable  kit  went 
down  in  eight  or  nine  feet  of  water. 

There  was  plenty  of  driftwood  behind  the  lee  of 
some  alders,  and  we  spent  the  rest  of  the  day  there, 
from  ten  o'clock,  drying  out  and  resting.  In  the 
calm  of  the  next  morning  we  hooked  up  the  derelict 
stuff.  What  a  hook  would  not  catch  a  wire  snare  on  a 
stick  did. 

Our  trap  boat,  bought  from  Captain  Bartlett  at 
Turnavik,  was  waiting  at  Winter's,  and  in  two  days 
we  worked  our  way  to  Geer's.  The  boat  was  slow 
and  heavy,  albeit  known  to  us  as  the  "Lady  Maud," 
but  we  came  to  a  sort  of  affection  for  her.  For  a  few 
'hours  getting  to  Geer's  place  we  had  a  head  wind,  the 
only  one  of  that  miraculously  wind-favored  trip. 

Tom  Geer  and  his  wife  helped  us  to  Davis  Inlet, 
fifteen  miles,  and  showed  us  what  intimate  knowledge 
of  tides  would  do.  We  rowed  or  paddled,  all  six  of 
us,  till  the  heavy  craft  moved  like  a  thing  of  life; 
currents  and  a  final  wind  did  more,  and  we  made  port 
in  a  wonderfully  short  time.  On  our  own  resources 
we  might  have  taken  a  day  or  more. 


1910  289 

We  were  glad  to  rest  two  or  three  days  in  the  will- 
ing hands  of  Mr.  Johnson,  the  new  agent,  who  helped 
us  on  later.  We  had  brought  some  souvenirs  from 
the  Indian  camp,  but  in  experienced  hands  at  the  post 
they  were  soon  boiled  out.  (Mem.:  Some  sulpho- 
napthol  for  insects  is  worth  having  along  to  save  boil- 
ing one's  woolens.)  Wind  and  rain  put  us  ashore  a 
night  in  Flowers'  bay,  and  a  northwester  following,  a 
cracking  wind,  made  us  glad  to  change  from  the  open 
boat  to  a  schooner  in  Windy  Tickle.  We  caught  the 
Stella  Maris  at  Hopedale  by  a  scratch,  but  not  too  late 
to  dine  with  the  Lenzes  at  the  Mission. 

The  1 910  trip  was  a  fair  success.  The  strong  party, 
perhaps  physically  the  most  capable,  and  without  pro- 
fessional packers  the  best  equipped  of  any  that  has 
gone  into  the  peninsula,  was  very  effective  and  hard 
to  stop.  We  did  not  work  very  long  days,  though 
taking  it  by  and  large  all  had  work  enough,  and 
every  one  at  one  time  or  another  showed  signs  of 
wear. 

On  coming  out  we  were  surprised  to  learn  that  an 
expedition  had  gone  into  the  country  from  Nain  at 
about  the  time  we  started  in  by  the  Assiwaban.  The 
travelers  were  Mr.  Hesketh  Prichard  and  Mr.  Hardie, 
with  their  guide,  Porter.  They  paralleled  our  route 
at  a  distance  from  it  of  some  twenty  miles,  reaching 
the  Barren  Ground  Lake  ten  days  after  we  did.  They 
saw  no  Indians.  The  ground  they  traversed  is  some- 
what higher  and  more  rocky  than  along  the  Assiwaban, 
with  fewer  lakes,  and  withal  should  be  better  suited 
to  a  foot  trip.  Much  of  this  country  was  more  or  less 
distantly  viewed  by  one  and  another  of  us  in  1904  and 


290  Labrador 

1905,  from  elevations  along  our  way,  in  particular 
from  the  hills  about  Mistinipi. 

In  191 1  the  Indian  country  was  unvexed  by  any 
white  person,  so  far  as  I  can  learn.  McMillan  made 
a  long  canoe  trip  on  the  coast,  but  did  not  go  inland. 
At  Davis  Inlet  he  saw  one  or  two  of  old  E.'s  family 
and  a  chance  Naskapi.  After  all,  the  people  had  man- 
aged to  pull  through  the  winter,  and  in  the  spring  had 
a  great  migration  at  Mistinipi.  They  speared  a  thou- 
sand deer. 

Now,  in  November,  the  snow  is  over  the  country, 
there  is  meat  for  the  winter,  and  the  lodge  life  at  its 
best  is  going  on  in  the  sheltered  bays.  In  such  times 
of  plenty  the  Indian  life  is  peculiarly  attractive,  per- 
haps more  so  than  the  life  of  any  other  hunter  race 
that  survives  on  earth.  The  people  are  lords  over  their 
fine  country,  asking  little  favor,  ever,  save  that  the 
deer  may  come  in  their  time.  It  was  one  of  the  not- 
able privileges  of  my  wilderness  days  to  have  the  best 
of  their  country  to  myself  for  some  years,  unexplored 
as  it  was,  and  even  more  to  me  was  the  relation  with 
the  people  themselves. 

They  are  all  east  of  the  George  now ;  all  that  I  know 
who  are  living.  Old  Ostinitsu  is  there  surely,  for  he 
is  tough ;  and  Nahpayo,  who  "sees  far,"  with  his  pretty 
young  wife.  Pakuun-noh,  a  good  man,  is  gone;  he  is 
hunting  in  an  easier  world  now.  His  wife  is  with 
the  others;  her  son,  Fox-boy,  with  his  father's  and 
mother's  gentleness,  must  be  getting  a  large  boy  now. 
Puckway,  is  there,  with  his  friendly  eyes,  Ashimagan- 
ish,  Kamoques,  Pi-a-shun-a-hwao,  and  straight  old 
Nijwa  who  has  outlived  her  looks. 

They  are  all  there,   where  the  nights  are  already 


TSHINUTIVISH 


1910  291 

long,  and  the  snow  flashes  keen  to  the  northern  lights. 
There  is  plenty  now,  the  children's  faces  are  round; 
there  is  plenty  for  the  burnt  offerings,  always  of  the 
best  —  and  the  people  do  not  forget.  There  is  plenty 
to  offer  Ki-way-tin-o-shuh,  the  god  of  the  Northwind 
and  Snow,  in  these  days  of  his  growing  power.  Now 
are  the  Maquish,  the  Little  People,  hidden  in  their 
rocks,  now  are  the  Under-water  People  sleeping  the 
winter  away.  The  wire  snowshoes  come  and  go,  the 
tracks  of  the  long  tapakun  ribbon  the  winter  ways. 
Little  the  people  are  asking.  Their  country  still  is 
theirs,  and  the  deer;  and  long  may  they  so  remain. 


CHAPTER  X 

MICE 

The  part  played  by  that  humble  creature,  one  might 
easily  say  humble  nuisance,  the  mouse,  in  the  economy 
of  barren  ground  life,  has  been  touched  upon  in  pre- 
vious pages.  With  the  caplin  of  the  coast  waters,  and 
the  rabbit,  the  varying  hare  of  the  forested  North, 
creatures  existing  mainly  to  feed  their  predatory  super- 
iors, the  mouse  has  an  importance  quite  beyond  its 
apparent  insignificance. 

The  mouse  of  the  barrens  is  rather  square  built, 
about  the  size  of  a  common  field  mouse,  with  a  short- 
ish, stumpy  tail.  Like  the  rabbit  it  increases  in  num- 
bers through  a  term  of  years  and  suddenly  disappears. 
The  rabbits  at  least  are  known  to  die  off  from  a  dis- 
ease like  anthrax.  In  years  of  their  scarcity  districts 
where  there  are  no  lakes  to  provide  a  fish  supply  are  not 
hunted  by  the  Indians,  who  seek  other  grounds.  In 
these  years  the  lynx,  the  chief  rabbit  hunter  of  all,  is 
said  not  to  breed.  The  hardship  of  the  rabbit's  ab- 
sence is  felt  also  by  the  martens,  whose  Indian  name, 
by  the  way,  is  wapistan,  "rabbit-hunter,"  as  well  as  by 
the  birds  of  prey  and  other  hunting  creatures. 

In.  like  manner  the  caplin  governs  the  movements  of 
the  cod,  and  probably  certain  of  the  whales.  It  has 
been  held  that  the  recent  destruction  of  whales  from 
the  stations  at  Hawk  Harbor  and  Cape  Charles,  on  the 

292 


Mice  293 

Labrador,  has  affected  the  cod  fishing  through  the 
caplin  as  intermediary.  The  idea  is  that  the  whales 
drive  the  caplin  inshore,  and  the  cod  follow  in  where 
they  can  be  caught.  Now,  with  the  thinning  out  of 
the  whales,  it  is  thought  that  the  caplin  and  cod  tend 
to  remain  out  at  sea  where  they  cannot  be  reached. 
On  this  theory,  I  have  been  told,  whaling  has  been  re- 
stricted in  certain  Norwegian  waters,  and  similar  legis- 
lation has  been  suggested  for  Labrador. 

Perhaps  as  many  creatures  depend  upon  mice  as 
upon  either  rabbit  or  caplin,  although  people,  indeed, 
rarely  eat  them.  Indirectly  they  may  play  as  import- 
ant a  part  in  the  concerns  of  the  Indians  as  the  rabbit 
itself;  and  this  although,  in  the  fur  countries  at  least, 
one  may  well  touch  his  hat  with  respect  when  the  name 
of  the  Indians'  "Little  White  One"  is  mentioned. 

In  1903,  my  first  year  in  the  country,  mice  were 
not  noticeably  plenty.  Caribou  had  been  abundant 
through  the  winter,  by  early  July  passing  north  in  large 
numbers  close  to  the  coast.  There  were  some  falcons 
about,  the  splendid  light-colored  gyrfalcons,  besides 
rough-legged  hawks,  dark  and  almost  equally  fierce. 
Both  kinds  breed  in  cliffs  about  the  islands.  I  saw 
few  ptarmigan,  the  one  with  chicks  at  Jim  Lane's  be- 
ing all  I  remember;  however,  I  spent  little  time  inland 
that  year.  Foxes,  the  most  important  fur  game,  were 
fairly  plenty. 

By  1904  mice  were  distanctly  abundant.  Hawks 
were  more  numerous,  the  white  ones  shrilling  from 
many  cliffs  as  we  approached  their  nests.  It  was  that 
year,  I  think,  perhaps  the  next,  that  foxes  were  noted 
by  the  shore  people  as  being  scattered  and  shy;  they 
would  not  take  bait.     As  to  the  trout  up  river  I  do 


294  Labrador 

not  remember,  but  they  probably  made  something  of 
their  chance  at  the  mice.  If,  however,  the  mice  take 
to  the  water  mainly  when  migrating,  the  trout  may  not 
have  had  many  that  year. 

Ptarmigan  were  fairly  numerous.  The  wolverene 
we  shot  was  full  of  mice.  There  were  no  caribou  to 
speak  of.  We  saw  a  good  many  wolf  tracks,  chiefly 
along  the  river  banks,  where  mice  are  apt  to  be,  but 
heard  no  wolves  at  night.  There  were  some  hawks 
and  a  few  owls  all  the  way  inland. 

The  next  year,  1905,  was  the  culminating  year  of 
the  mice.  Sometimes  two  at  a  time  could  be  seen  in 
the  daylight.  Low  twigs  and  all  small  growth  were 
riddled  by  them.  There  was  a  tattered  aspect  about 
the  moss  and  ground  in  many  places  not  quite  pleasant 
to  see.  We  saw  few  mice  in  the  river,  but  perhaps 
they  swam  nights.  Falcons  had  increased  visibly, 
nesting  on  most  cliffs  from  Cape  Harrigan  to  Misti- 
nipi,  a  hundred  and  fifty  miles  distance.  Owls  were 
not  many,  but  had  increased  somewhat;  we  saw  only 
one  snowy  owl.  All  trout  of  more  than  a  half  pound 
had  mice  inside.  Ptarmigan  were  very  plenty,  and  the 
wolves  —  we  may  have  seen  the  tracks  of  two  hundred 
—  were  silent  still.  The  bear  of  the  trip  was  full  of 
mice.  He  was  very  fat,  as  doubtless  the  other  preda- 
tory animals  and  birds  were.  They  were  in  much  the 
situation  of  some  of  us  Vermont  children  one  year 
when  blackberries  were  unusually  thick;  the  bushes 
were  hanging  with  them,  and  all  we  had  to  do  was  to 
walk  up  to  them  hands  down '  and  "eat  with  our 
mouths."  Caribou  were  still  scarce,  even  on  George 
River,  and  foxes  plenty. 

In  the  spring  of  1906  the  mice  disappeared  with  the 


Mice  295 

snow.  The  local  impression  was  that  they  moved 
away  at  these  times,  but  such  is  almost  always  the 
prevailing  belief,  whether  as  to  buffalo,  caribou,  or 
fish,  in  fact  any  sort  of  game.  It  is  possible  that  they 
did  move,  but  if  so  one  ought  to  hear  of  their  reappear- 
ing somewhere  occasionally  in  large  numbers,  and  so 
far  as  I  learn  this  is  not  their  way. 

With  the  vanishing  of  the  mice  the  change  in  the 
visible  life  of  the  country  was  remarkable.  The  fal- 
con cliffs  were  deserted,  coast  and  inland.  Where  the 
birds  had  gone  none  could  say.  They  had  seemed  to 
belong  to  the  country.  We  felt  the  absence  of  their 
superb  flights  and  cries. 

In  the  trout  reaches  of  the  Assiwaban  fish  were 
numerous,  but  they  were  living  on  flies  now,  with 
what  minnows  they  could  get,  and  were  no  longer 
mousey,  but  sweet  and  good.  No  owls  appeared; 
there  had,  however,  never  been  very  many.  Our  bear 
of  the  year  was  living  on  berries,  and  did  not  smell 
beary  or  greasy  when  we  skinned  him;  the  meat  was 
singularly  sweet  and  well  flavored. 

Ptarmigan  were  all  but  wanting,  old  birds  and 
young.  It  is  fair  to  suppose  that  in  previous  years 
they  were  let  alone,  by  their  natural  enemies  in  the 
presence  of  the  superabundant  mouse  supply,  and 
were  enabled  to  increase  to  their  unusual  number  of 
1905.  Their  enemies  —  birds,  wolves,  foxes,  wolver- 
enes and  what  not,  increased  also.  For  two  or  three 
years  they  had  had  only  to  sit  down  and  eat.  Now, 
in  a  plight  with  the  disappearance  of  the  mice,  they 
harried  the  ptarmigan  to  nearly  the  last  Qgg  and 
feather.  We  missed  their  evening  crowing  in  the 
scrub. 


296  Labrador 

The  refuse  of  the  deer  crossing  at  Mistinipi  gathered 
many  of  the  animals  and  the  ravens.  Sixty  wolver- 
ene skins  came  to  Davis  Inlet  post  that  year,  where 
eight  or  ten  would  come  ordinarily. 

For  the  first  time  we  heard  the  wolves  nights,  a  far, 
high-pitched  howl  —  their  hunting  cry.  I  suppose  it 
is'  for  the  ears  of  the  caribou.  Uneasy,  they  move,  a 
track  is  left  for  the  wolf  to  find,  and  sooner  or  later 
the  chase  is  on.  There  had  been  no  need  of  thus  stir- 
ring^ up  the  game  from  a  distance  in  the  mouse  hunt. 

Whether  the  caribou  may  not  have  kept  out  of  the 
country  because  the  mice  were  in  possession  is  a  ques- 
tion. The  ravelled  moss  and  other  leavings  of  the 
mice  were  a  little  unpleasant  to  our  eyes,  perhaps  also 
to  the  sensitive  nose  and  taste  of  the  caribou,  as  sheep 
ground  is  to  the  larger  grazing  animals.  I  have  long 
suspected  that  the  caribou  did  not  care  to  feed  along 
with  the  mice.  It  is  possible,  however,  that  being  let 
alone  by  the  wolves  in  the  south  while  the  latter  were 
sitting  among  the  mice  in  the  north,  the  caribou  merely 
stayed  passively  where  they  were.  The  absence  of 
Indians  in  the  southern  part  of  the  deer  range  would 
also  support  the  idea  that  their  being  undisturbed 
had  to  do  with  their  staying  there.  Once  the  wolves 
found  themselves  upon  the  hard  times  of  early  1906 
they  may  have  sought  the  caribou  and  stirred  them  to 
move.  They  certainly  did  move,  as  the  twelve  or  fif- 
teen hundred  carcasses  at  Mistinipi  that  year  went  to 
show. 

The  bearing  of  the  mouse  situation  on  the  human 
interests  of  the  region  is  easy  to  see.  It  affected  all 
the  game,  food  game  and  fur.  The  abundance  of 
mice  tended  to  build  up  the  ptarmigan,  which  are  of 


Mice  297 

vital  importance  in  the  winter  living  of  the  Indians 
through  the  whole  forested  area  to  the  Gulf.  Likewise 
it  built  up  the  caribou  herd  by  providing  easier  game 
than  they  for  the  wolves. 

The  departure  of  the  mice  did  the  reverse,  reducing 
the  deer  and  ptarmigan,  but  it  may  have  brought  the 
deer  migration  as  suggested,  giving  at  any  rate  an  easy 
year  to  the  hard-pressed  Indians  of  the  George.  At 
last  they  had  good  food  and  new  clothes  and  lodges,  in 
all  of  which  necessaries  they  had  gone  very  low.  They 
killed  too  many  deer  at  Mistinipi,  still  very  many 
passed  south  again  the  next  year.  There  have  been 
deer  in  the  country  ever  since,  with  not  many  mice. 

All  in  all  it  is  hard  to  imagine  any  other  natural 
change  which  would  have  affected  the  fortunes,  some- 
times the  fate,  of  all  the  other  creatures  of  the  penin- 
sula, from  man  to  fish,  as  did  the  coming  and  going 
of  the  mice  during  the  years  from  1903  to  1906.  Only 
fire  could  have  done  the  like.  Nor  were  the  shore 
people  by  any  means  untouched.  All  their  land  game 
came  and  went,  was  plenty  or  wanting,  shy  or  easily 
taken,  according  to  the  supply  of  mice.  London  and 
St.  Petersburg,  easily,  were  affected  through  their 
great  fur  trade. 

It  would  be  farfetched  to  speculate  seriously  as  to 
the  influence  of  our  multitudinous  little  rodent  upon 
the  fish  and  whales  of  the  deep  sea,  even  if  there  were 
any  such  thing  as  tracing  these  matters  to  their  final 
end.  A  run  of  mice,  nevertheless,  may  make  itself 
felt  quite  beyond  adjacent  sea  waters.  The  fish  we 
are  concerned  with  all  feed  at  much  the  same  sea  table 
—  the  salmon  and  sea  trout  that  visit  the  inland,  the 
cod    and    the    whales    that    do    not.     Their    business, 


298  Labrador 

chiefly,  is  eating,  and  they  are  more  or  less  in  competi- 
tion. What  one  gets  another  does  not.  The  well- 
being  of  the  anadromous  fish,  the  fish  which  ascend  a 
hundred  rivers,  is  somewhat  at  the  expense  of  the  other 
kinds  of  fish  left  behind.  What  one  kind  eats  the 
others  cannot  have.  In  mouse  times  there  are  more 
and  larger  fish  to  go  back  to  the  sea,  if  partly  because 
their  enemies  such  as  otter  and  mink  neglect  fishing  for 
the  easy  mouse-hunt.  There  are  more  fresh-water 
trout  left,  too,  to  go  down  to  the  bays  as  they  do,  and 
join  the  hunt  for  caplin ;  and  again,  whatever  they  get 
the  cod  do  not,  nor  the  whales. 

The  gulls  may  be  regarded;  they  are  neighbors,  at 
least,  with  the  fish  —  the  predatory  gulls  which  nest 
over  the  inland  waters,  picking  up  mice  and  young 
birds  and  all  derelict  life  they  can  master,  all  things 
dead  and  alive.  Their  range  extends  from  the  cod 
and  caplin  swarming  passages  of  the  coast  archipelago 
to  the  far  apex  of  the  peninsula  at  Kaneiapishkau 
Nichicun. 

The  falcons  ?  When  the  mice  go  and  famine  comes, 
do  they  descend  upon  the  young  of  the  gulls,  and  vice- 
versa?     Truly  the  maze  of  life  is  complicated! 

The  year  the  mice  disappeared  I  was  not  wholly 
away  from  their  influence  even  at  home  in  New  Hamp- 
shire. They  or  their  ghosts  followed  as  in  the  old 
tale  of  the  Mouse  Tower.  Whether  as  a  case  of  cause 
and  effect,  that  winter  a  remarkable  flight  of  goshawks, 
the  "winter  hawks"  of  the  Labrador,  moved  down 
upon  the  northern  states,  looking  for  food.  There 
also  appeared,  so  I  read  at  the  time,  a  wide  flight  of 
snowy  owls.  The  hawks  were  a  scourge  to  our  na- 
tive game.     One  of  them  used  to  sit  on  a  high  dead 


Mice  299 

limb,  commanding  a  reach  of  woods  behind  our  fam- 
ily house  in  Dublin,  looking  for  partridges,  which  had 
become  numerous.  The  patridges  could  cope  well 
enough  with  our  usual  birds  of  prey,  such  as  hawks 
and  owls,  and  the  ground  animals,  and  had  more  than 
held  their  own  for  some  time.  But  in  the  presence  of 
this  lightning  bolt  from  the  north  they  were  helpless, 
and  were  picked  up  fast.  By  spring  they  were  about 
all  gone. 

In  time,  if  whale  and  cod,  wolverene  and  wolf,  In- 
dian and  falcon  are  not  swept  from  the  scene  by  our 
remorseless  civilization,  the  important  role  of  such 
creatures  as  have  been  mentioned,  the  low  food- 
bearers,  may  be  followed  through,  and  what  is  casual 
inference,  in  many  fields,  may  be  demonstrated  as  true 
cause  and  result,  or,  on  the  other  hand,  dismissed  as 
unwarranted.  We  can  only  put  together  first  coin- 
cidences at  sight,  leaving  further  observation  to  deter- 
mine certainties.  The  thread  of  causality  traced  here 
is  at  least  more  obvious  than  some  outdoor  theories 
that  are  based  upon  longer  experience;  as  was,  for 
instance,  Spracklin's  belief  that  cod  came  in  well  at 
Fanny's  only  in  years  when  berries  were  plentiful  on 
the  land.  Who  shall  say?  Among  the  myriad  exist- 
ences of  the  open  there  is  room  for  many  a  thread 
unseen. 


CHAPTER  XI 

SOUTHEAST 

Between  the  Straits  of  Belle  Isle  and  Hamilton  In- 
let, facing  eastward  on  the  Atlantic,  is  a  squarish 
peninsula  averaging,  if  a  certain  frontage  on  the  lower 
Gulf  is  included,  170  or  more  miles  on  a  side.  Its 
most  notable  indentation  is  Sandwich  Bay,  rather  well 
north  on  the  Atlantic  side,  and  into  which  drains  much 
of  the  high-level  interior  for  a  long  way  back.  Taking 
the  map  for  it  the  look  is  that  this  bay,  or  the  river  that 
it  was  when  the  country  was  higher,  formerly  emptied 
into  the  Hamilton  instead  of  reaching  the  sea  by  an 
outlet  of  its  own.  There  is  plenty  of  ground,  now 
sea  bottom,  for  this  to  have  happened  on,  between  the 
present  coast  and  the  original  far  out  shore  line.  Now 
the  higher  hill  tops  of  this  old  coast  area  are  above 
water.  The  question  of  what  course  the  outer  valley 
took,  like  others  of  Labrador  physiography,  turns 
partly  on  ice  action.  If  the  main  agent  in  shaping  the 
outer  valleys  was  ice,  its  push  might  well  have  been 
straight  through  to  the  sea ;  if  water,  as  is  perhaps 
more  likely,  there  would  be  more  likelihood  of  gravita- 
tion toward  the  deeper  valley  of  the  Hamilton. 
Soundings  may  have  already  determined  this,  but  the 
outer  valleys,  levelled  up  now  by  debris  of  the  last 
ice  period,   may  be  past   identifying  by   such   simple 

means.     In  a  matter  of  a  few  centuries  the  area  will 

300 


Southeast  301 

be  out  of  water  again,  at  its  rate  of  rise  now.  As 
things  are  going  now,  the  submerged  area  may  be 
out  in  due  time,  and  examinations  made  dry  shod. 

In  general  plan  the  present  peninsula  and  its  parent 
Labrador  have  a  curious  family  resemblance  when 
brought  to  the  same  size.  The  Mealy  range  along 
Hamilton  Inlet  and  the  Torngats  of  the  northeast  cor- 
respond, as  do  the  Koksoak  and  Kenamou  rivers  with 
the  Hamilton  and  Eagle,  and  the  rims  of  the  St.  Law- 
rence slope  with  those  to  Hudson's  Bay.  To  be 
strictly  alike  one  or  the  other  peninsula  needs  to  be 
reversed,  turned  over,  otherwise  they  are  only  sym- 
metrical, like  one's  two  hands  with  the  thumbs  toward 
each  other.  The  identity  of  type,  however,  is  quite 
strikingly  similar.  The  forces  that  brought  about  the 
foldings  concerned  would  appear  the  same  and  perhaps 
to  have  acted  at  the  same  time.  On  the  other  hand 
the  present  region  has  peculiarities  quite  its  own.  One 
is  the  thinness  of  the  Mealy  range,  which  from 
Groswater  Bay  looks  2,000  feet  high.  Instead  of  be- 
ing a  mere  side  slope  for  a  higher  level,  as  most  walls 
of  the  sort  in  the  country  are,  it  is  an  actual  mountain 
range,  one  with  a  relatively  low  area  of  swamps  and 
barrens  behind  it,  perhaps  an  old  lake  bottom,  that  ex- 
tends well  to  the  heads  of  the  Gulf  rivers  south.  From 
the  account  of  a  Sandwich  hunter  who  had  once  been 
as  far  as  the  Kenemich  in  winter,  this  level  "  waste 
land  "  practically  butts  against  the  high  Mealy  wall, 
without  mentionable  foothills.  It  would  be  interest- 
ing to  know  just  the  elevation  above  sea  of  this  level 
area.  Opposite  the  St.  Augustine  it  is  likely  to  be  not 
far  from  1,000  feet,  judging  from  Bryant's  survey 
of  that  river. 


302  Labrador 

The  thinness  of  the  Mealy  range  where  cut  by  the 
Kenamou  is  remarkable;  at  little  above  sea  level  it  is 
hardly  four  miles  through.  Here  the  range  has  foot- 
hills on  the  south,  flanking  the  deep  side  valleys  of  the 
Kenamou.  The  tops  of  these  hills  are  probably  level 
with  the  plains  eastward,  or  may  be  higher. 

An  interesting  feature  of  the  interior  is  what  may 
be  called  the  Minipi  V,  the  long  and  relatively  nar- 
row basin  of  what  is  probably  Eagle  River.  Hemmed 
in  by  the  Gulf  head-waters  and  the  Paradise  valley  to 
the  south  and  the  waters  of  Kenamou,  Kenemich,  Bear 
and  others  to  the  north,  yet  well  toward  200  miles 
long;  this  basin  must  be  in  the  unusual  position,  for  a 
long  way,  of  occupying  almost  exactly  the  main  east 
and  west  height  of  land.  It  is  true  that  main  divides 
in  the  north  are  apt  to  be  like  that  of  Thoreau's  medi- 
tations on  Umbazookskus  Carry,  where  the  King  of 
Holland  would  have  been  in  his  element  —  in  other 
words  a  watery  flat  waste,  so  that  the  depth  of  the 
Eagle  valley  may  be  nearly  negligible,  but  its  narrow- 
ness, considering  its  length,  must  be  unusual.  Withal 
the  main  height  of  land,  at  least  from  the  St.  Augus- 
tine to  the  Eskimo,  is  likely  to  turn  out  a  meandering 
affair,  at  any  rate  there  is  a  branch  river  coming  into 
the  Eagle  along  there,  that  heads  somewhat  to  the 
southward. 

The  probable  position  of  this  central  valley,  close 
against  the  main  east  and  west  divide  of  the  country,  is 
not  past  accounting  for,  pending  examination.  The 
glacial  movement  over  the  country  during  the  last  of 
the  ice  period,  as  shown  by  its  striae,  was  somewhat 
east  of  southeast,  but  along  this  divide  it  took  its  north 
of  east  direction;  part  of  the  ice,  however,  going  south 


Southeast  303 

down  the  GuK  valleys.  The  general  southeast  flow 
would  be  obstructed  by  the  Mealy  foothills  mentioned, 
but  on  the  other  hand  guided  by  parallel  ranges  that 
reach  the  Kenamou  from  northwest  15  or  20  miles 
south  of  the  Mealies  where  the  foothills  end.  The 
country  southward  is  flat.  Once  clear  of  the  foothills 
and  western  ranges  the  ice  could  go  anywhere.  One 
would  say  most  of  it  would  go  down  the  Gulf  valleys. 
The  short  route  to  sea  level  seems  to  have  drawn  off 
the  northern  edge  of  the  field,  moving  "  by  the  flank,'' 
Sandwich  way.  A  dead  space  or  sort  of  eddy  was 
left  under  the  Mealy  range,  in  its  last  stage  a  lake,  held 
in  on  the  Sandwich  side  by  gravel  deposits  or  ice. 
This  dam  cut  down  or  melted,  the  silted  lake  bottom 
remained,  with  the  Eagle  valley  marking  the  course 
of  the  ice  stream  along  its  southern  border  to  Sand- 
wich. 

Minipi  means  Fish  lake.  The  Indian  route  to  it 
from  the  Hamilton  takes  off  at  Gull  Island,  80  or  90 
miles  up  the  latter  river.  The  Minipi  River  emptying 
here  does  not  come  from  the  lake,  though  doubtless 
named  either  from  being  near  it  or  being  used  as  a 
route  to  it.  Minipi  is  probably  60  miles  long  or  more. 
The  estimate  of  200  miles  from  the  head  of  Minipi  to 
the  sea  depends  upon  the  Gull  Island  route's  leading 
about  square  off  the  Hamilton  to  it;  if  the  route  swings 
much  to  the  east  the  distance  of  the  lake  from  the  coast 
must  be  less. 

The  deep  cut  lower  valleys  of  the  general  South- 
east are  forested  and  not  practical  for  foot  travel 
in  summer;  the  moss  is  deep  and  obstructions  many. 
Canoe  travel  is  better  but  not  easy.  The  rivers  have 
few  actual  falls,  but  strong  rapids,  but  the  rapids  are 


304  Labrador 

often  miles  long.  The  St.  Augustine  has  a  portage 
of  10  miles  over  a  hill  700  feet  high,  the  Eskimo  one 
of  16  or  17  miles  mainly  through  bogs,  the  Kenamou 
a  stretch  of  15  miles  that  few  polers  can  get  up  at 
all  and  that  is  almost  destructive  to  a  canoe.  Sand- 
wich Bay  rivers  are  described  as  impassable.  All  are 
boulder  and  gravel  rivers,  spread  out  and  unnavigable 
at  very  low  w:ater.  Salmon  go  far  up  them  and  there 
are  trout  everywhere.  Between  white  hunters  and  In- 
dian the  coastal  valleys  have  been  nearly  cleaned  of 
game  save  for  rabbits  and  occasional  spruce  partridges. 
Caribou  are  not  many,  though  both  the  woodland  and 
barren-ground  varieties  occur.  Geese,  black  ducks  and 
loons  breed  in  some  numbers  about  the  high  level  ponds. 
One  ought  not  to  starve  in  the  region  in  summer,  more 
than  elsewhere  in  Labrador,  but  from  its  difficult  rivers 
and  complex  inner  routes  the  district  is  not  an  easy  one 
to  see  much  of  in  a  season  without  a  guide,  and  none 
is  to  be  had.  Indians  will  not  tn!;e  one  into  the  inner 
country  and  no  one  else  knows  it.  The  region  as  a 
whole,  rather  the  Jungle  of  Labrador,  is  not  easy  to 
deal  with  unless  by  airplane. 

Travel  in  the  country  is  not  helped  by  the  absence  of 
several  important  north  fishes.  The  dependable  one  is 
the  common  trout,  with  pike  and  suckers  as  may  be, 
and  in  places  the  fresh  .water  cod,  Indian  milakato. 
Salmon  help  a  traveller  rather  little  and  do  not  reach 
the  higher  levels.  The  lake  trout,  pike-perch,  ouan- 
aniche  and  whitefish  that  in  most  other  districts 
are  one's  solid  reliance  are  wanting.  To  quote  Low 
as  to  Labrador  generally,  "  Salvelinus  namaycush " 
(great  lake  trout),  are  very  plentiful  in  the  larger 
lakes  of  the  interior  northwest  to  Hudson's  Straits. 


IN  A  TSHINUTIVISH  LODGE 


HAIR  SKINS,  MISTINIPI,   1906 


Southeast  305 

Very  abundant  in  the  lake  expansions  of  the  Ham- 
ilton River  and  Lake  Michikamau,  average  weight 
about  8  pounds  but  many  taken  over  25  pounds  in 
weight.  Ouananiche,  found  plentifully  in  both 
branches  of  the  Hamilton  River  above  the  Grand 
Falls,  also  in  Koksoak  River  below  Kanaepishkau  — 
common  in  Lake  Michikamau,  reported  by  Indians  as 
common  in  the  upper  George,  the  Romaine,  the  Mani- 
quagan  and  several  other  of  the  rivers  flowing  into  the 
Gulf  of  St.  Lawrence. 

"  Common  whitefish  are  found  abundantly  through- 
out the  interior  in  lakes  and  rivers.  The  largest  was 
taken  in  Lake  Michikamau,  14  pounds  in  weight; 
average  weight  3  or  4  pounds.  Stigostidewn  vitreum, 
Wall-eyed  pike,  Dore,  Perch  of  the  H.  B.  Co.,  are 
common  in  the  southern  rivers  flowing  into  Lake  St. 
John  and  to  the  westward,  also  in  the  Rupert  and  East 
Main  rivers  of  the  western  watershed.  They  are 
rarely  found  in  the  Betsiamites  River  and  not  found 
west  of  that  stream,  being  unknown  to  the  Indians  of 
Mingan.  Not  found  in  the  Big  River  or  streams  to 
the  north  of  it,  nor  in  rivers  of  the  eastern  or  northern 
watersheds.     The  average  weight  is  3  pounds." 

From  good  Indian  report  the  latter  fish  is  found  in 
a  round  lake,  9  miles  across,  just  east  of  Maniquagan, 
and  this  would  imply  its  reaching  halfway  to  the 
Moisie.  In  fact  it  goes  much  farther,  well  toward 
Minipi  at  least.  This  I  gathered  in  19 12  from  Pier- 
rish,  chief  at  Romaine,  who  spoke  English  well. 
Moreover  the  fish  grows  large  both  in  its  very  wide 
western  habitat  and  at  times  in  eastern  waters.  Ont 
of  26  or  28  pounds  was  reported  from  Kiskisink,  north 
of  Quebec,  in  1900  or  a  little  later  by  my  Montagnais 


306  Labrador 

friend  J.  Bastian,  who  was  guiding  there  when  it  was 
caught  and  saw  it.  Pierrish  said  that  the  Indians 
mostly  lost  their  very  large  ones  owing  to  their  weak 
tackle.  This  would  be  natural  enough,  for  when  fish- 
ing for  a  living  almost  anyone  will  let  his  tackle  get 
down  to  average  requirements;  it  is  only  the  sports- 
man who  keeps  his  up  to  the  possible  big  fish.  .  .  . 

The  lands  of  the  Romaine  Indians  reach  Minipi  or 
very  near  it.  That  the  Mingan  Indians  farther  west 
do  not  know  the  pike-perch  is  hard  to  believe,  there 
is  some  room  for  unveracity  and  more  for  simple  mis- 
takes, and  Low's  conversation  is  likely  to  have  been 
through  an  interpreter,  who  may  have  been  Bastian 
himself,  at  that  time  a  mere  indefatigable  boy.  If 
he  upset  things  -then  it  would  not  have  been  the  first 
time,  as'  a  little  episode  when  he  was  with  me  on  Mani- 
qnagan  may  show.  One  rainy  day*  I  had  the  half 
dozen  Indians  of  the  party  in  council  over  local  place 
names,  among  them  Toolnustuk,  belonging  to  a  branch 
river  near  and  translated  in  Low's  text  as  Elbow  river. 
The  word  for  elbow  does  apply  fairly.  The  name, 
properly  Tudnustuk,  was  duly  explained  to  me.  Af- 
terward I  asked  Bastian,  who  had  been  with  Low  on  his 
Maniquagan  expedition,  how  it  was  that  some  names 
had  been  given  wrong  meanings.  "  Don't  know," 
he  answered,  "  Sometimes  ask  me.  ...  I  only  a  boy 
and  had  no  one  to  talk  to  —  had  to  tell  him  some- 
thing! "  It  is  no  reproach  to  my  friend  Low  or  his 
remarkable  professional  work  that  he  was  sometimes 
caught  in  this  way;  there  is  no  sure  guard  against  it; 
sometimes,  indeed,  the  most  competent  Indian  is  at  a 
loss. 

It  is  no  wonder  that  John  had  not  been  able  to  see 


Southeast  307 

the  meaning  of  Toolnustuk.  Several  members  of  my 
council  knew  what  it  was,  but  were  sometime  in  shap- 
ing an  explanation.  Finally  the  spokesman  turned  to 
me.  "You  see,  if  the  traine"  (an  expedition  of 
canoes  or  sleds)  "  was  going  up  the  river,  and  wanted 
to  stop,  they  could  not  find  a  place  to  stop,  because 
there  are  no  lakes  on  the  river.  So  we  call  it  !  Cant- 
find-it-river.'  That  is  what  Tudnustuk  means/'  Their 
"  stop  "  may  mean  something  of  a  stay,  and  the  name 
Tudnustuk  imply  a  rapid  stream  with  steep  banks,  awk- 
ward to  camp  on.  Widenings  with  little  current  are 
often  termed  lakes  by  the  Indians. 

East  of  Minipi,  at  any  rate,  four  of  the  most  im- 
portant fishes  of  the  country  are  wanting,  and  also,  by 
statements  of  old  Edward  Rich,  in  the  Northwest  or 
Nascaupee  river  area  too.  One  reason,  Edward  said, 
that  the  Northwest  River  Indians  pushed  north  into 
the  barrens  between  the  middle  George  and  the  coast 
was  because  the  trout  in  their  own  country  were  small, 
and  he  had  little  to  say  of  other  fishes.  It  would  be 
interesting  to  know  whether  lake  trout,  ouananiche  or 
whitefish  from  Michikamau  have  descended  to  the 
large  Seal  Lake  on  the  Nascaupee.  Whether  or  no 
the  total  area  from  which  these  are  absent,  taking 
the  country  both  north  and  south  of  the  Hamilton,  and 
that  might  be  termed  the  small  trout  area,  is  a  large 
one.  There  are  of  course  large  trout  in  all  estuaries 
and  in  some  places  inland.  In  general  the  larger  trout 
appear  to  work  toward  the  salt  water  and  only  return 
upstream  to  spawn. 

Something  may  be  said  of  causes,  first  that  the  ab- 
sent species  are  western  ones,  the  pike-perch  and 
namaycush  rather  far  western  ones,  the  former  belong- 


308  Labrador 

ing  more  south,  the  latter  north,  and  in  large  size. 
From  about  a  thirty  pound  maximum  in  Labrador  the 
namaycush  reaches  nearly  a  hundred  in  Lake  Superior, 
and  quite  that  in  Great  Bear  Lake.  Both  species  are 
fresh  water  ones,  I  do  not  know  of  their  entering 
brackish  water  at  all. 

With  the  departure  of  the  ice  the  return  of  most 
species,  rather  certainly  of  the  pike-perch  or  okan,  must 
have  been  from  the  west.  The  peninsula  was  lower 
then,  600  feet  at  the  Saguenay,  300  or  400  or  more 
along  the  Atlantic,  and  ascent  to  the  high  level  was  by 
so  much  lessened.  Perhaps  the  fish  came  by  the  long 
and  slow  rivers  of  the  Hudson's  Bay  side.  The  south 
part  of  "  The  Bay,"  as  H.  B.  Co.  people  have  it, 
should  have  been  fresh  then,  from  the  vast  flow,  filling 
the  wide  valleys  to  the  foothills,  from  the  melting  cap. 
But  one  can  imagine  steeper  ascents,  of  stray  fish 
caught  above  ice-dammed  gorges  and  locked,  so  to  say, 
upward,  over  flowed-out  falls  —  then  striving  and 
pushing  on  as  might  be  up  the  interminable  rushing 
water  courses  that  were  over  the  country.  A  locking 
in  a  thousand  years,  two  thousand,  during  the  long 
retreat  of  the  ice,  in  one  of  many  rivers,  and  the 
thing  were  done.  Or  as  happened  rivers  were  turned 
by  ice  dams  into  other  valleys  than  their  own  — 
here,  there,  where  the  slopes  at  one  pitch  of  water 
or  another  could  be  ascended.  The  element  of  time 
came  in,  longer  or  shorter,  and  time  there  was.  Some 
species  would  be  in  the  advance,  some  not.  Some 
are  not  adventurous,  cling  to  their  places  in  spite  of 
changes  and  conditions  until  they  perish;  one  species 
spreads  fast  and  another  not.  All  require  their  own 
conditions,  these  change,  and  always  here  and  there 


Southeast  309 

are  remnant  species  that  cannot  change  with  them  and 
will  disappear. 

By  the  time  the  okau  and  namaycush  had  arrived  at 
the  eastern  area  conditions  for  their  dispersal  had 
changed  for  the  worse;  by  mere  shrinkage  of  water 
and  drying  of  divides  their  further  advance  may  have 
been  impossible.  As  fresh  water  species  they  could 
not  go  around  by  sea  and  up  the  rivers,  which  in  any 
case  are  too  fast  and  shallow  for  them.  With  trout, 
at  home  in  the  full  salt  of  the  sea,  and  equally  so  be- 
hind a  stone  in  a  screeching  rapid,  the  case  is  different. 
They  are  perfectly  fitted  also  to  the  shallow  black  bot- 
tomed ponds  over  the  north.  The  trout  is  a  com- 
mitted explorer  colonist,  and  given  only  a  little 
cool  decent  water,  will  turn  up  almost  anywhere  on  the 
eastern  side  of  the  continent. 

The  case  of  the  ouananiche  is  another  matter. 
Really  a  salmon  living  in  fresh  water,  the  only  ques- 
tion is  how  he  came  by  the  habit,  or  from  the  point 
of  view  of  those  who  regard  the  salmon  as  origin- 
ally a  fresh  water  fish,  how  he  came  to  keep  it.  He 
does  not  do  so  invariably,  but  if  he  takes  to  the  sea 
long  becomes  a  sea  salmon,  with  all  its  size  and  ways. 
From  the  present  central  habitat  of  the  ouananiche, 
well  west  toward  the  Saguenay,  it  may  be  guessed  that 
his  distance  from  the  sea  was  the  main  thing  that  kept 
him  at  home.  This  may  have  been  the  case  with  the 
land-locked  salmon  of  Maine,  for  at  a  former  time 
there  seems  to  have  been  land  outside  the  Grand  Lake 
vicinity  by  which  the  fish  is  now  known.  Its  existence 
in  the  larger  lakes  of  Newfoundland  may  be  condi- 
tioned upon  its  having,  from  the  nature  of  the  rivers, 
a  particularly  hard  road  to  the  sea,  certainly  in  the 


310  Labrador 

dry  seasons.  The  fish  is  one  of  very  special  condi- 
tions, living  almost  wholly  upon  smaller  ones,  unlike 
the  trout.  In  waters  where  it  occurs  naturally  it  does 
not  often  grow  to  more  than  6  pounds,  but  when 
transplanted,  as  at  Sebago  Lake,  it  has  reached  24. 
In  such  lakes  as  Minipi  and  others  of  the  present  region 
it  should  do  well,  but  as  the  habits  of  the  fish  are,  little 
is  to  be  argued  from  its  absence  anywhere. 

"WTiite-fish  occur  north  of  Davis  Inlet,  when  they 
are  said  to  come  into  brackish  water,  and  they  un- 
doubtedly do  reach  tide  level.  It  must  be  said,  after 
all,  that  the  absence  of  this  fish  and  any  others  from 
southeastern  Labrador  may  be  due  simply  to  the  un- 
suitability  of  most  of  the  rivers  for  them,  if  not  the 
larger  lakes. 

THE  SANDWICH  BASIN 

From  recent  sketches  by  St.  Augustine  Indians  it  appears  that  Minipi 
Lake  may  not  drain  toward  Sandwich  Bay  but  perhaps  with  the  Hamil- 
ton, and  after  all  by  way  of  Minipi  River,  though  the  Northwest  River 
people  have  seemed  clear  enough  to  the  contrary.  If  this  lake  is  outside 
the  Sandwich  basin  the  total  length  of  the  latter  would  not  be  much 
over  150  miles. 

A  traverse  during  the  past  summer  of  1920  from  Shekatika,  near  St. 
Augustine,  to  Sandwich  Bay,  by  the  Coxsippi,  upper  Eskimo  and  Paradise 
rivers  develops  the  remarkable  shallowness  of  the  many  lakes  of  the 
high  level.  Very  largely  they  must  freeze  to  the  bottom,  a  sufficient 
reason  for  absence  of  the  lake  trout  and  some  other  fishes.  Trout,  pike 
of  moderate  size  and  suckers  are  fairly  abundant  and  in  Minipi  Lake 
are  also,  by  Indian  report,  ouananiche  and  milahats  or  fresh  water  cod. 


CHAPTER  XII 

ESKIMO    BAY    AND    RIVER 

From  the  Davis  Inlet  coast,  with  its  people  of 
Eskimo  cast  and  high  tailed  Eskimo  dogs,  its  bays  of 
one  or  two  families,  or  none;  its  occasional  parties  of 
keen  Indians  from  the  George,  in  skins  or  not,  speaking 
their  Eiino  —  from  these  to  the  fishing  stations  of 
Belle  Isle  Straits  and  the  lower  Gulf  is  a  step  well  to 
the  modern.  Some  of  the  stations  are  rather  vil- 
lages. Spare  rooms  occur,  and  books.  The  canoe 
on  trips  is  rather  superfluous;  sleeping  under  it  does 
not  occur  to  one.  Many  of  the  band  of  St.  xAiigustine 
Indians,  deplorably  now  in  trousers,  have  a  little 
French  or  English.  In  St.  Paul  River  village,  at  the 
head  of  Eskimo  Bay,  fashion  plates  have  been  seen, 
and  at  the  time  of  my  stay  there  in  19 13  their  man- 
dates, by  aid  of  Quebec  resources  via  certain  trading 
schooners,  were  being  followed  with  effect,  this  more 
apparent  from  the  unexplained  circumstance  that  chil- 
dren born  at  "  The  River  "  are  nearly  all  girls. 

That  year,  1913,  I  arrived  at  Bonne  Esperance,  in 
the  eastern  entrance  to  the  bay,  in  September.  As 
the  Whiteleys,  to  whom  the  station  there  belongs,  were 
closing  down  and  returning  to  St.  Johns  for  the  winter, 
I  dropped  into  a  boat  with  some  people  leaving  for 
their  winter  places  up  the  bay,  along  with  two  girls  from 
the  east  side  of  Newfoundland  who  were  out  on  their 

311 


312  Labrador 

first  venture  as  school  teachers.  One  of  the  latter  was 
tall,  the  other  petite ;  they  had  lost  their  baggage,  might 
not  get  it  at  all  that  year,  and,  taking  the  place  and 
all,  seemed  rather  in  for  it.  The  small  one  looked  far 
from  home,  though  as  things  turned  out  with  them 
I  need  not  have  worried  about  it.  The  River,  as  they 
call  the  village  at  the  head  of  the  stream,  is  8  or  9 
miles  from  Bonne  Esperance,  through  passages  and 
bays  among  high  islands,  treeless,  but  good  to  see  in 
their  moss.  The  Eskimo  comes  in  narrow,  widening 
above  to  a  sort  of  final  bay  or  lake  and  not  losing  the 
tide  for  some  way  beyond  it.  There  were  16  or  17 
houses  and  a  mission  chapel.  I  took  up  with  the 
William  Goddards,  later  with  the  Jack  Fequets.  Jack 
and  I  had  a  bond  in  our  Jersey  island  blood,  and  on  the 
strength  of  a  family  look  I  assumed  cousinship,  which 
in  a  way  reached  his  eight  daughters  as  well  as  his 
brother's  sons,  eight  of  them.  These  are  a  few  miles 
away  at  Old  Fort  village,  where  without  explantion 
the  children  are  nearly  all  boys. 

The  active  event  of  the  two  weeks'  stay  was  the 
rafting  of  Jack's  wood,  cut  the  winter  before,  from 
some  miles  up  the  river.  The  wood  was  mostly  fir 
poles  averaging  perhaps  four  inches  at  the  butt.  We 
were  quite  a  party,  on  the  barn  raising  principle,  and 
noisy;  everybody  had  a  plan,  though  Jack  always 
shouted  loudest  at  the  last.  The  raft  was  quite  an  af- 
fair by  the  time  it  was  done.  While  towing  down  river 
the  motor-boat  balked.  We  lost  the  tide.  The  raft 
stuck  and  we  had  to  go  back  for  it  next  day.  Then  we 
stood  the  poles  all  up  in  a  conical  pile,  snow  country 
fashion,  in  front  of  Jack's  house.  A  good  deal  of 
wood  is  sledded  down  with  the  dogs  in  winter  as 


Eskimo  Bay  and  River  313 

needed,  but  several  other  houses  had  their  cones  up 
before  I  left. 

The  main  business  of  the  people  was  cod-fishing,  and 
some  fur  was  caught.  Jack  kept  a  store,  and  was  the 
principal  fur  trader  of  that  part  of  the  coast.  There 
was  not  much  doing  for  anyone  at  the  time  of  my 
visit.  Some  wood  was  rafted.  I  saw  fox  traps  be- 
ing boiled  with  evergreen  boughs  to  mitigate  their 
smell,  and  the  day  I  came  Jack  shot  a  lot  of  welcome 
eiders  and  black  ducks  from  his  motor-boat.  The 
ducks  were  only  a  taste  among  the  many  mouths  that 
they  reached,  we  were  chiefly  on  salt  cod,  bread  and  tea. 
The  time  was  between  seasons,  with  little  that  was 
fresh  to  be  had.  The  vegetables  they  usually  got 
from  Quebec  were  evidently  a  prize,  were  mentioned 
lingeringly.  The  girls  never  spoke  of  anything  else 
in  the  same  tone,  not  even  —  to  me  —  of  their 
clothes.  They  must  have  dreamed  of  them.  It  was 
a  curious  touch.  When  their  ship  comes  in  —  not  the 
Quebec  schooner  but  the  one  we  all  pass  —  it  will  bring 
many,  many  of  these.  That  year  the  schooner  they 
chartered  had  not  come  and  would  not  —  by  a  hap- 
pening of  darkness,  a  wrong  course  on  the  compass 
and  a  rocky  shore. 

The  patriarch  of  the  place  was  John  Goddard, 
grandfather  of  Jack's  girls  and  some  of  their  cousins. 
His  build  and  face  and  all-around  seafaring  beard  be- 
longed with  ships  of  the  line  and  Nelson's  day  rather 
than  the  present-day  River  village.  He  read  the  services 
in  the  chapel.  I  went  to  his  rabbit  snares  with  him,  back 
in  the  scrub,  but  my  company  did  not  bring  him  luck. 
Grandma  Goddard,  who  showed  her  strain  of  Eskimo, 
had  not  lost  the  art  of  making  the  remarkable  seal 


314  Labrador 

boot  of  the  race.  Jack's  eldest  daughter  and  I  went 
over  one  evening  and  dined  with  the  old  people,  and 
Marty  was  there,  the  granddaughter  who  lived  with 
them  and  looked  after  the  house.  The  two  girls  wore 
their  best,  I  should  say.  They  will  never  look  better, 
one  dark  and  the  other  fair,  nor,  on  the  whole,  need  to. 
To  see  Marty  G.  coming  down  the  path  with  two  pails 
of  water  one  of  those  mornings  in  the  sunlight  was 
not  the  worst  thing  for  one's  eyes  —  no,  not  the  worst. 

The  winter  life  of  the  place,  which  had  been  aban- 
doned during  the  summer  fishing,  was  now  under  way. 
The  people  were  glad  to  be  home  again.  The  place, 
i.  e.  the  girls,  had  received  the  small  teacher  —  the 
other  had  gone  to  Old  Fort  Village  —  by  a  march  in 
the  late  twilight  up  and  down  along  the  row  of  houses, 
five  girls  abreast,  the  teacher  in  the  middle  of  the  first 
row.  It  was  their  presentation.  They  were  not  very 
visible,  but  one  felt  their  vitalized  swish  and  tramp. 
They  were  with  her.  In  truth  it  was  their  presentation 
of  themselves  in  the  matter  that  most  remained  with 
me. 

The  teacher  and  I  did  what  we  could  toward  a  visit 
to  the  friend  at  Old  Fort,  but  the  motor-boat  would 
not  start,  I  am  easily  a  Jonah  to  any  of  them.  The 
day  was  dark  and  cold,  with  wind,  and  after  an  hour 
in  the  boat  we  watched  what  could  be  seen  of  our 
head-down  skipper  from  the  house,  then  gave  up. 
With  the  increasing  wind  a  bad  point  that  had  to  be 
rounded  would  have  been  wet  or  impossible  anyway. 

The  next  year  I  heard  a  little  of  how  the  winter 
went  with  the  small  teacher.  The  school  had  been  out 
of  hand  before  she  came,  the  big  boys  rough  and  the 
rest  doing  as  they  pleased.     It  was  a  question  whether 


Eskimo  Bay  and  River  315 

even  man's  strength  could  bring  order.  In  truth  the 
older  heads  of  the  village,  on  seeing  the  slight  new- 
comer, had  had  little  or  no  hope  for  her.  Perhaps  it 
was  to  have  some  test  at  once  that  she  was  asked  to 
read  the  first  of  the  year  service  in  the  chapel.  Her 
tension  as  she  stood  up  was  plain,  but  she  put  it  through, 
and  well.  So  at  the  school ;  the  vicious  ones  began  in 
the  old  way,  bit  upon  something,  in  the  end  fell  away. 
I  had  a  letter  from  her  written  as  she  was  leaving  for 
home  the  next  summer,  saying  she  liked  the  place  and 
people,  had  had  a  good  time.  There  had  been  plenty 
of  rabbits  and  white  partridges  all  winter,  she  was 
getting  plump,  was  going  back. 

In  October  snow  began  to  show  on  the  hills.  I  had 
had  no  inland  trip  that  year,  and  restless  from  this 
and  in  no  mood  for  conventional  travel  fell  uninvited 
upon  a  trading  schooner  about  to  start  from  the  next 
bay  for  Halifax.  It  was  partly  her  yacht  looks  that 
made  me  insist,  but  if  I  had  known  her  skipper,  Reed, 
and  her  mate,  old  Captain  Hirst,  as  well  as  afterward 
I  should  have  been  keener  and  they  perhaps  less  re- 
luctant to  take  me.  However  1  threw  my  ulster  down 
in  a  bare  bunk  for  a  mattress  and  we  were  off.  The 
schooner  was  the  Mora,  light  laden  with  fish. 
Luckily,  as  times  were  to  be,  we  accumulated  some 
eiders  and  black  ducks  at  Cape  Whittle  while  wind- 
bound.  The  main  Gulf  was  only  windy,  but  once 
lapped  upon  Cape  Breton  a  great  gale  came  on.  For 
three  days  we  were  blown  about  the  Grand  Banks,  out 
of  all  reckoning,  finally  turning  up  from  northeast 
under  the  East  light  of  Sable  Island.  We  got  away 
from  there,  which  was  something,  eventually  to  a  har- 
bor at  White  Head  near  Canso.     Probably  we  were 


316  Labrador 

lucky.     The  wind  continued  against  us  and  I  took  to 
land  travel  from  there. 

ESKIMO    RIVER 

Part  of  my  getting  two  unspoiled  young  Indians 
for  a  trip  on  Eskimo  in  191 6  may  have  come  from  my 
meeting  old  Kutnow,  known  also  as  Charley  Marks, 
the  year  before  at  St.  Augustine.  We  could  not  ex- 
pand much,  as  our  means  of  communication  were 
limited,  but  sat  together  in  the  little  office  room  at  the 
Post  and  talked  of  the  country  and  somewhat  of  life, 
as  older  people  do.  I  felt  drawn  to  the  dark  solid  old 
man,  who  was  doubtless  a  manitsesht,  one  close  to  the 
spirits,  with  all  the  primal  dreams  of  the  gift.  He 
would  have  told  me,  I  think,  anything  he  could.  They 
were  all  there  for  me,  the  vast  strange  things  of  the 
other  side,  if  I  had  only  had  enough  of  the  language  to 
receive  them,  but  we  ceased  with  the  things  of  daylight, 
the  material.  I  tried,  we  knew  there  was  something  for 
us  beyond,  but  the  aura  passed.  Two  years  after- 
ward when  I  saw  him  again  he  was  older  and  ill,  and 
the  last  man  of  the  Gulf  region  that  I  know  of  who 
could  have  drawn  the  final  veil  of  the  race  for  me  was 
beyond  response. 

Soon  after  our  conversation  I  took  boat  with  some 
bay  people  who  were  going  home  to  Shekatica,  where 
I  stayed  a  day,  windbound,  with  William  Shetley,  put- 
ting in  the  time  talking  and  gorging  at  meals  the  won- 
derful Labrador  herring  that  were  about  the  passages 
then.  Shetley  spoke  of  old  Charley,  who  had  been  at 
the  landing  as  we  left  "  He  told  me  you  talked  with 
him,"  and  later,  "  He  said  to  me,  '  that's  a  good  man.' ' 


Eskimo  Bay  and  River  317 

(Mais    peutetre).     Shetley    finished    with    "He's    a 
grand  old  man!  " 

The  next  year  at  Bonne  Esperance  I  sent  word  to 
my  friend  Johnson  at  St.  Augustine  post  for  two  men 
for  Eskimo,  if  he  could  get  them,  and  down  came 
Sylvester,  old  Charley's  son,  with  a  friend  named 
Winipa,  by  the  Post  people  called  Blackie,  a  sturdy 
boy  who  looked  full  Indian.  It  took  persuasion  by 
Johnson  to  get  them,  but  I  imagine  that  if  it  had  not 
been  for  my  visit  of  the  year  before  his  efforts  would 
have  failed.  I  mention  these  particulars  because  the 
bringing  of  hunting  Indians  into  trip  service  is  rarely 
possible  and  as  rarely  successful  when  arranged.  Yet 
be  it  said  there  is  no  such  wilderness  pleasure  as  with 
unspoiled  Indians  in  their  own  country,  young  Indians 
who  have  never  been  out  with  a  white  person. 

The  time  was  early  in  August.  George  Whitely 
took  us  by  motor-boat  well  above  the  River  village; 
the  start  and  day  were  good.  The  cuttings  for  wood 
along  the  narrow  river  levels  ran  out  in  nine  or  ten 
miles  above  the  village  and  we  were  off  on  the  fine 
untouched  river  among  high  hills,  that  ran  with  the 
stream.  In  a  few  hours  the  current  increased  and  in 
a  closing  in  of  the  hills  that  was  rather  a  gorge  I  was 
let  out  on  the  east  bank  and  told  of  a  path  some  way 
up  the  hillside.  The  path  was  easy  to  find,  but  the  little 
used  lower  part,  the  high  water  portage,  was  obstructed 
and  bad,  though  the  upper  end  was  well  enough. 
Looking  down  a  ravine  along  I  caught  sight  of  the 
boys  pushing  hard  from  the  other  side  among  surges 
to  make  the  low  water  landing  and  was  as  well  pleased 
to  be  out  of  it.     There  was  no  actual  fall  that  I  re- 


,318  Labrador 

member,  but  the  narrowed  pitches  at  the  top  were  be- 
yond passage  up  or  down.  The  river  above  widened 
in  lake-like  calm.  The  place  is  known  as  Grassy 
Point.  The  men  mentioned  camping  but  I  held  them 
on  a  couple  of  miles.  Above  the  falls  a  route  leads 
east  through  large  lakes  and  headwaters  that  prob- 
ably interlock  with  those  of  the  St.  Mary's  and  Alexis 
rivers  of  the  Atlantic  side.  Somewhere  in  this  direc- 
tion Indians  occasionally  winter  and  bring  in  good 
hunts  of  fur.  Along  this  part  of  Eskimo  the  lower 
hills  are  lightly  timbered,  the  higher  ones  barren  at 
the  top.  All  hills  seen  from  Bonne  Esperance  are 
treeless,  and  from  about  the  head  of  tide  a  large  area 
of  open  moss  hills  extends  west  and  northwest  in  coun- 
try otherwise  considerably  forested.  Here  summer  a 
few  woodland  caribou  and  in  the  fall  appear  some 
numbers  of  barren  ground  caribou,  "  Those  old  long- 
horned  ones  come  out  in  October,"  an  Old  Fort  hunter 
had  it.  This  northeastern  or  Labrador  caribou  of  the 
barrens  has  been  recognized  as  a  distinct  sub-species, 
perhaps  even  entitled  to  standing  as  a  full  species. 
Its  chief  difference  from  R.  Arcticus  of  the  continent 
west  of  Hudson  Bay  is  in  the  sweep  and  heavier  tim- 
bering of  the  horns. 

Sylvest  turned  to  getting  the  tent  up  for  the  night, 
and  looked  at  me  inquiringly  for  approval  of  the  ex- 
act bed  place.  The  two  had  watched  me  rather 
narrowly  through  the  day,  ready  to  note  my  not-to-be- 
expected  white  man's  ways.  Their  feelings  were  not 
to  be  envied  at  this  stage.  They  were  well  enough 
used  to  our  insensitive  ways  at  the  shore  among  houses, 
but  here,  where  streams  ran  and  their  own  life  was,  the 
thing  could  only  be  hard. 


Eskimo  Bay  and  River  319 

With  whatever  of  prepossessions  as  of  one  white 
man  from  another,  they  were  taking  among  their  pres- 
ences of  air  and  water  and  land  one  of  a  race  that 
could  not  understand.  It  was  not  easy  for  them.  Yet 
they  wanted  to  do  their  part,  and  would  at  least  try. 
I  don't  think  I  seemed  the  worst.  They  must  have 
seen  that  I  did  not  carry  unnecessary  furniture  and  I 
am  not  sure  that  they  bothered  their  minds  much  at 
having  to  take  up  in  the  small  tent  with  me. 

They  brought  the  tent  out,  and  when  they  looked  to 
me  about  the  place  for  it,  I  saw  my  chance  and  was  un- 
responsive. It  was  time  for  a  little  beginning.  I 
moved  my  eyes  across  the  clear  western  sky  —  we 
were  on  the  east  side  of  the  wide  river  —  and  observed 
"  Mauats  chimun-ah?"  "It  is  not  going  to  rain,  is 
it?  "  Sylvest  shook  his  head.  "  Mauats  mitshiwap," 
"  No  tent  "  I  said,  and  walked  off  with  my  blanket 
till  I  came  to  a  comfortable  spot  for  myself  and  settled 
down.  It  was  an  Indian  way,  though  an  Indian  might 
not  have  liked  to  sleep  quite  so  far  from  others.  The 
boys  settled  down  where  they  were  without  comment, 
(and  for  the  first  time  that  day  the  incubus  of  white 
presence  seemed  abated.)  We  had  begun  to  be  In- 
dians together. 

On  first  landing  we  had  paddled  a  mile  or  so  up  to 
a  brook  called  Uinashuk,  probably  meaning  in  this 
case  the  same  as  Winikapau,  sour  willows.  The  boys 
expected  many  trout.  We  did  get  a  fair  mess,  run- 
ning to  a  half  pound,  but  there  were  only  two  or  three 
left  and  these  turned  shy.  The  water  was  too  clear 
and  the  pools  small  for  one  thing.  But  it  is  curious 
how  wholly  unfished  trout  can  go  shy  just  as  the 
sophisticated  ones  do  at  home.     Here  the  main  cause 


320  Labrador 

both  of  the  small  number  and  unreadiness  of  the  fish, 
I  think,  was  the  presence  of  salmon  in  that  part  of  the 
river.  Trout  are  the  special  enemy  of  the  salmon, 
eating  their  eggs  disastrously  and  it  seems  rather  out 
of  nature  that  the  salmon  should  not  regard  them  with 
corresponding  disfavor.  Apparently  they  chase  the 
trout  out  of  the  pools  and  generally  upset  their  equi- 
librium, and  what  trout  there  are  about  seem  harried 
and  not  to  know  their  own  minds.  The  cause  of  this 
may  not  be  the  salmon  of  course,  but  rather  that 
August  is  a  restless  and  scattering  month  for  the  trout 
in  these  rivers,  coming  as  it  does  between  the  active 
feeding  and  growing  period  of  early  summer  and  de- 
parture for  the  spawning  beds  in  September.  At  any- 
rate  in  the  St.  Augustine  in  19 12,  where  Bryant  found 
trout  everywhere  in  July,  and  also  in  Kenamou,  where 
Northwest  River  hunters  said  there  were  trout  by 
millions,  we  could  not  in  August  easily  get  all  we  could 
have  used.  On  the  other  hand  in  the  salmonless  As- 
siwaban  farther  north,  August  is  the  month  of  months 
for  trout,  in  places  it  seems  as  if  one  could  load  a  boat 
with  three-pounders  at  twilight. 

A  few  miles  above  the  gorge  the  valley  takes  a  long 
slant  to  the  west  and  turns  north  again,  the  river  com- 
ing down  wide  and  easy.  Near  the  turn  northward 
Sylvest  swept  his  arm  toward  a  long  mountain  on  the 
left,  saying,  "No  animals  at  all,  nothing!"  White 
hunters  have  cleared  the  game  from  all  the  deep  valleys 
that  lead  to  the  central  high  level.  From  Sandwich 
Bay  some  go  a  hundred  miles  in,  encroaching  some- 
what on  the  plateau  grounds  of  the  Indians.  Even 
there  caribou  are  scarce.  A  Sandwich  Bay  hunter  I 
talked  with  in  1906  said  he  had  never  had  a  shot  at 


Eskimo  Bay  and  River  321 

one.  Apparently  this  hunter's  route  lay  northwest  to- 
ward the  Kenemich,  where  the  large  Mud  Lake,  by 
his  account,  empties  west  by  that  river  and  by  another 
outlet  east  toward  Sandwich.  At  the  time  I  took  it 
that  this  lake  was  further  south  than  it  is,  and  within 
the  Minipi  V.,  and  was  probably  known  to  the  Indians 
as  Kenamou,  meaning  Long  Lake.  I  am  now  sure 
that  the  name  is  not  a  lake  term  at  all,  but  describes 
in  some  way  the  practically  lakeless  Kenamou  river. 
The  Indians  must  know  its  meaning,  but  I  have  not 
been  able  to  get  it  out  of  them,  rather  likely  because 
it  is  impolite  beyond  mention.  My  own  translation 
certainly  is,  though  no  worse  than  the  actual   river. 

After  turning  north  again  the  Eskimo  is  wide  for 
some  miles,  with  occasional  large  boulders  in  the  upper 
reaches.  Here  and  there  one  was  topped  by  a  harbor 
seal,  sometimes  two,  looking  large  and  conspicuous  in 
relation  with  the  small  trees  of  the  shores.  Some  were 
large  old  fellows.  They  gave  the  river  an  inhabited 
look,  and  nothing  is  more  human  than  a  seal.  They 
would  slide  or  tumble  off  at  fifty  or  a  hundred  yards 
away,  appearing  again  below.  We  laughed  at  their 
expressive  inquiry  about  us,  and  their  funny  sudden- 
ness when  they  went.  Can-you-beat  it !  was  in  their  ex- 
pression at  the  last.  They  were  cheering,  the  river  had 
been  lonely  before  with  only  a  rare  loon  or  wisp  of 
sheldrakes,  but  here  were  its  people. 

Opening  to  the  east,  at  some  35  miles  up  the  river, 
is  a  remarkable  pool  at  least  a  half  mile  wide.  Along 
its  upstream  side  the  river  comes  pitching  in  over  small 
gravel  in  four  or  five  shallow  streams  well  separated 
by  bushy  islands.  About  one  of  the  middle  streams,  a 
trifle  larger  than  the  others,   were  twenty  or  thirty 


322  Labrador 

seals,  waiting  in  a  crescent  like  cabmen  at  a  gate,  evi- 
dently devoting  themselves  to  the  salmon  as  they  passed 
into  the  shallow  current.  It  was  a  wonder  how  any 
fish  got  by,  and  none  at  all  why  the  Chevaliers'  net 
fishing  at  the  River  village  had  fallen  off.  The  seals 
Hocked  about  as  we  came,  sticking  up  an  occasional 
head  a  few  yards  away,  the  main  group  running  half 
angrily  to  and  fro  in  the  background  like  dogs  driven 
away  from  a  cat.  They  moved  off  east  and  we  saw 
them  swimming  about  the  far  end  of  the  pool  in  some- 
what calmer  mood.  They  have  their  young  up  here 
away  from  the  sea,  but  I  should  say  must  go  down  in 
the  fall. 

For  the  next  two  or  three  miles  the  canoe  had  to 
be  waded  up  the  wide  shallows  in  places.  This  is  not 
a  common  resort  with  Indians,  for  by  turning  out  all 
but  one  person  to  walk  the  banks  the  canoe  is  ordinarily 
lightened  enough  to  be  poled.  It  is  remarkable  what 
fast  bars  the  Indians  will  push  up,  often  with  their 
last  ounce  of  strength  but  little  appearance  of  it,  never 
appearing  hurried  but  never  losing.  Their  average 
rate  where  they  can  go  up  at  all  keeps  one  stepping 
the  loose  cobble  banks  without  much  waiting,  some- 
times for  miles.  Their  poles  are  not  shod.  As  they 
broom  at  the  end  they  are  sharpened  again  with  the 
hatchet.  If  there  was  much  rock  bottom  to  deal  with 
there  would  be  trouble  accordingly. 

Some  two  miles  above  this  pool  is  a  hunting  "  tilt," 
in  other  words  a  small  log  cabin,  belonging  to  John 
Bowlen  of  Old  Fort.  He  and  Lewis  Robin,  with 
sometimes  two  others,  have  appropriated  the  frontier 
between  the  other  white  hunters  and  the  Indians,  ap- 
parently elbowing  both  ways  for  their  ground.     Their 


Eskimo  Bay  and  River  323 

farthest  limit  is  at  a  pond  some  way  in,  where  later 
we  found  their  tent  and  canoe  scaffolded  for  the  sum- 
mer. We  took  up  with  John's  tilt  for  the  night  and 
by  noon  the  next  day  were  at  the  long  portage,  some 
forty  miles  from  the  River  village.  From  the  looks 
of  a  tumbling  rapid  coming  around  a  bend  from  east 
about  three  hundred  yards  ahead  there  was  no  doubt  we 
were  at  the  head  of  navigation.  The  day  was  very 
hot.  The  river  had  been  swift  and  hard  and  we 
simply  lay  about  the  hot  rocks  with  no  fancy  for 
getting  our  things  up  the  hundred  foot  bank  to  the 
camping  place.  I  started  a  good  trout  or  two  in  the 
tails  of  boulders  near,  but  do  not  remember  getting 
any.  The  hot  sun  was  on  them.  After  a  little  Syl- 
vest  asked  if  he  could  try.  He  could  hardly  have 
handled  a  fly-rod  before,  it  was  the  only  one  we  had, 
and  I  said  a  nearly  audible  farewell  to  it  as  he  started 
off.  I  saw  myself  cutting  alders  to  fish  with  in  future, 
and  they  would  do  in  a  fashion,  but  I  hated  being  with- 
out the  rod.  Sylvest  went  up-stream  a  way  and  be- 
gan to  cast.  After  a  while  he  returned,  not  only  with 
a  large  trout  and  two  smaller  ones,  but  to  my  surprise 
with  the  rod  as  good  as  ever.  As  we  settled  down 
again  I  thought  the  danger  well  over,  but  presently 
could  not  help  seeing  that  the  Winipa  was  eyeing  the 
rod.  Now  there's  no  chance,  I  thought,  but  asked 
him  if  he  wanted  to  try.  He  went  down  stream,  to 
come  back  with  a  catch  equal  to  Sylvest's.  Still  the 
rod  was  sound,  and  more,  they  had  both  beaten  me  at 
my  own  lifelong  game. 

At  the  camping  place  up  over  the  bank  were  some 
winter  lodge  poles  and  an  old  sweat  bath.  The  latter 
is  found  almost  everywhere  where  Indians  have  stayed 


324  Labrador 

any  length  of  time  in  the  bare  ground  season.  In  the 
evening  we  made  plans.  If  the  trip  was  to  amount  to 
much  we  should  have  to  go  over  the  portage  twice, 
and  as  the  canoe  was  heavy  I  proposed  that  we  go  over 
first  without  it  and  then  decide  about  taking  it  across. 
The  route  cuts  across  a  wide  northeast  swing  of  the 
Eskimo  and  much  of  the  way  is  miles  from  it.  The 
Old  Fort  hunters  called  the  portage  twenty  miles  long. 
It  is  a  part  of  a  winter  route  to  Sandwich  Bay  that 
has  been  traversed  a  few  times  by  white  persons.  In- 
dications are  that  it  does  not  depart  much  from  a 
straight  line  from  the  mouth  of  Eskimo  to  Sandwich, 
paralleling  the  east  coast  at  about  seventy  miles  in- 
land. The  air  line  distance  is  about  a  hundred  and 
thirty-five  miles. 

Sylvest  knew  a  surprising  amount  of  the  worst  Eng- 
lish I  ever  heard  from  an  Indian.  We  invariably  got 
tangled  before  we  were  through  in  matters  of  any 
complexity.  In  the  matter  of  what  we  should  take 
over  the  portage  he  put  his  ideas  vigorously,  "  Uh- 
hot!  Not  carry  much  flour  to  eat  over  there,  we  find 
plenty  to  eat!  You  no  fraid,  we  find  plenty  all  sum- 
mer.',  So  we  started  fairly  light,  but  taking  my  little 
4*4  pound  28  gauge  and  enough  cartridges,  besides  the 
rod.  The  boys'  packs  may  have  been  60  pounds  or 
more.  The  path  follows  the  river  north  a  quarter  of 
a  mile  or  more,  then  strikes  west  up  a  steep  slope  for 
several  hundred  feet  of  rise  to  the  upper  level  of 
stunted  bog  spruce  and  deep-moss  bogs.  Here  and 
there  were  peaty  ponds  a  few  rods  across,  sometimes 
with  a  solitary  sandpiper  or  two  poking  about  the  mud 
margin.  About  the  middle  of  the  day  one  flew  to  the 
top  of  a  high  scraggly  stub,  fluttered  and  cried  and 


Eskimo  Bay  and  River  325 

went  on  as  I  had  hardly  known  a  bird  to  do  before. 
The  boys  said  it  had  a  nest  near.  The  Indian  name 
of  the  solitary  I  have  forgotten,  but  it  means  the  bird 
that  laments,  weeps,  and  the  solitary  more  than  de- 
serves the  title. 

On  a  low  white-moss  ridge,  an  old  burnt  ground, 
were  many  blueberries,  but  a  worse  lot  of  black  flies 
than  I  have  often  seen  kept  me  from  getting  quite  my 
share  of  them  and  I  sat  in  a  breeze  on  the  top  of  the 
ridge  while  the  boys  finished  their  browse.  As  with 
the  far  worse  mosquitoes  of  the  great  barrens  north 
the  Indians  seemed  to  get  off  with  about  half  the  bites 
I  had.  In  this  their  life  inoculation  by  fly  poison 
doubtless  plays  a  part,  but  in  my  case  I  think  the  matter 
of  salt  came  in,  the  salt  of  my  perspiration.  This  I 
had  noticed  in  the  north  barrens.  Whenever  I  was 
sweating  freely  the  mosquitoes  became  raging,  and 
when  my  skin  was  dry  they  became  relatively  quiet. 
I  think  salt  is  considerably  the  key  in  this  matter.  The 
way  things  went  when  one  was  in  bathing  is  in  point. 
Once  arrived  at  the  courage  to  depart  one's  clothes  and 
get  into  the  river  the  thing  was  over.  Coming  out 
with  cool  clean  skin  the  mosquitoes  hardly  touched 
one,  though  if  only  from  memory  of  what  had  been 
no  one  lingered  in  getting  something  on. 

The  northern  Indians  eat  no  salt  at  all,  the  southern 
ones  little,  and  both  are  of  an  active,  lean  type  that 
sweats  little.  On  the  present  occasion  I  was  unusually 
soft  and  probably  with  an  abnormally  high  salt  habit 
from  being  thrown  much  upon  the  pickled  resources 
of  north  Europe  and  Russian  hors  d'oeuvres  tables. 
Why  a  mosquito  should  want  salt,  if  he  does,  is  not  too 
clear,  or  for  that  matter,  as  he  is  set  down  as  a  vege- 


326  Labrador 

tarian,  why  he  is  after  blood,  as  he  certainly  is.  As 
to  the  salt,  one  is  easily  convinced  that  in  vigor  and 
general  "  pep,"  as  the  saying  is,  shore  and  tide  marsh 
mosquitoes  stand  with  any.  Withal  it  is  these  same 
pests  of  the  littoral  that  have  guarded  the  Atlantic 
side  of  Labrador  against  exploration  for  the  summers 
of  ten  generations,  meeting  all  visitors  in  dense  ranks  at 
the  shore,  pursuing,  in  their  airplane  clouds,  the  crews 
upon  decks  far  out  in  the  passages,  driving  them  below 
hatches  and  taking  possession.  These  are  salt  satu- 
rated crews.  Yet  on  the  other  hand,  one  of  the  rec- 
ognized stimulants  of  their  activity  is  the  presence  of 
Eskimo  dogs,  to  whom  a  meal  of  salt  meat  is  their 
last ;  it  simply  kills  them.  The  "  flies  "  harry  the  old 
dogs,  kill  the  puppies.  Mosquitoes  do  like  blood,  if 
perhaps  better  when  salted.  For  the  present  purpose 
it  may  do  to  rank  the  pesty  vegetarians  with  the  larger 
ones,  such  as  grass  eating  mammals  and  non-carni- 
vorous birds  that  we  know  about.  These  are  keen  for 
salt,  for  more  salt  than  they  get  in  their  ordinary  food 
and  water;  cattle,  horses  and  the  deer  kind  are  con- 
spicuous here.  The  cattle  of  high  pastures,  where  the 
water  has  not  picked  up  much  mineral  from  the 
ground,  are  said  to  be  more  eager  for  salt  than  those 
of  low  pastures.  The  seed  eating  birds,  crossbills, 
siskins,  and  the  like,  that  drop  down  where  kitchen 
water  is  thrown  out,  find  salt,  though  there  is  a  further 
question  of  grease  and  the  like.  Certain  parrots, 
vegetable  eaters,  are  said  to  make  long  expeditions  for 
salt.  But  one  does  not  see  the  insect-eating  birds  look- 
ing for  it,  or  the  common  cat  or  other  flesh-eaters. 
It  is  reasonable  that  a  creature  like  these  that  lives 
on  others  of  the  same  material  as  itself  should  get 


Eskimo  Bay  and  River  327 

along  without  special  additions.  As  a  matter  of  fact 
northern  Indians  and  Eskimos  do  get  along  without 
salting  their  food.  Part  of  our  own  demand  for  salt 
is  probably  habit,  we  acquire  taste  for  it.  For  myself, 
when  thrown  upon  an  exclusively  meat  diet  under  ac- 
tive conditions  the  salting  of  fresh  meat  seems  to  des- 
troy finer  flavor  and  leave  not  much  but  the  burn  of 
an  over-salted  soup.  With  bread  and  the  like  one 
feels  the  salt  call,  and  also,  speaking  for  myself,  with 
meat  that  is  a  little  along,  high.  There  may  be  a  ques- 
tion of  climate  here  —  life  in  the  tropics,  with  its  need 
of  cooling  evaporation  from  the  skin,  along  with  its 
wide  reliance  on  plant  food,  may  have  its  own  de- 
mands. There  decomposition  is  rapid,  and  the  organ- 
isms that  enable  it  are  everywhere.  These  organisms, 
comparatively  wanting  in  the  north,  may  not  be  the 
same  as  in  the  tropics,  northern  decay  processes  sug- 
gest this.  Around  the  reindeer  north  people  are  able 
to  bury  their  fish  in  the  ground,  perhaps  for  a  year, 
and  then  use  them.  Such,  in  191 5,  were  being  sold 
at  three  usual  places  in  Christiania.  On  the  other 
hand  the  part  of  salt,  as  a  liquefier,  accompaniment 
of  perspiration,  witholder  from  decomposition,  ne- 
cessity to  a  vegetable  diet,  may  be  relatively  a  leading 
one  in  the  tropics.  Probably  all  creatures  must  have  it 
in  some  quantity,  whether  arrived  at  directly  or  by  ap- 
propriation of  another  creature's  content.  The  latter 
method,  after  all,  somewhat  parallels  taking  over  the 
plant  food  of  a  meat  animal  by  simple  process  of  eat- 
ing him. 

The  boys  kept  me  going  a  little  too  fast  that  hot 
day  in  the  bogs,  though  my  pack  was  light,  and  when 


328  Labrador 

it  began  to  rain  I  was  willing  enough  to  stop  with  the 
eleven  miles  we  had  done.  One  trouble  had  been  that 
Winipa  had  done  the  youthful  act  of  leading  us  up 
the  hard  hill  from  the  river  with  a  rush,  which  is 
always  a  thing  to  pay  for  in  a  long  march,  either  by 
horse  or  man.  He  had  to  drop  behind  afterward,  and 
for  some  time  was  out  of  sight. 

The  next  day  turned  cold  and  rainy  before  we  made 
the  five  or  six  miles  to  the  pond  at  the  end.  I  wanted 
no  more  trips  in  scratching  long-moss  bogs,  the  low 
ridges  gloomy  with  small  spruce  standing  in  moss. 
It  is  a  depressing  country.  We  had  passed  only  one  or 
two  distinct  caribou  tracks,  stamped  in  the  bog  months 
before.  As  a  winter  country  this  part  of  the  plateau 
is  not  bad,  there  is  good  shelter  and  travel  would  be 
easy,  and  there  would  be  small  game,  chiefly  rabbits 
and  spruce  partridges,  and  willow  ptarmigan  as  the 
season  for  them  might  be.  The  limited  fish  list,  how- 
ever, would  seem  a  poor  showing  to  anyone  used  to 
other  parts  of  the  peninsula.  The  boys  said  there 
were  pike  in  some  of  the  ponds  about,  but  small-pond 
pike  are  not  a  subject  for  enthusiasm.  We  had  caught 
a  few  red-bellied  trout  (called  salmon  trout  by  Syl- 
vest)  in  a  good  stream  early  in  the  portage,  but  they 
were  small,  shy  and  not  many.  If  I  had  never  had 
the  run  of  the  fine  north  barrens  with  their  game  and 
fish  I  might  have  looked  on  what  was  about  us  as 
after  all  a  good  untouched  wilderness,  instinct  with 
the  expression  of  the  forested  north  and  in  its  way 
inspiring.  As  it  was  I  was  spoiled  for  it,  though  be- 
ing out  with  the  good  young  Indians  made  me  de- 
cently contented  and  in  fact  pleased  with  the  days. 
It  is  the  human  that  really  counts,  for  better  or  worse. 


Eskimo  Bay  and  River  329 

We  put  Bowlen's  canoe  in,  paddled  to  a  little  island- 
like knoll  not  far  along,  put  up  the  tent,  had  a  bite, 
and  in  spite  of  the  cold  drizzle  the  boys  went  out  with 
my  gun  to  make  good  on  their  food  guarantee.  They 
fell  upon  an  old  pair  of  loons  in  sight  of  camp.  When 
a  bird  went  down  they  put  the  canoe  the  way  it  had 
been  looking,  paddling  like  demons,  and  were  gen- 
erally close  on  when  it  rose.  Their  intensity  at  it  was 
striking.  As  they  had  been  virtually  trout  when  they 
were  fishing  at  the  river  so  now  there  were  loons,  but 
with  an  endless  ferity  no  loon  could  cope  with.  Soon 
they  came  back  with  the  two  big  birds  and  a  gosling 
loon  they  had  killed  with  a  paddle  in  the  lily  pads. 

A  cold  northeaster  set  in.  The  next  day  the  boys 
came  in  wet,  with  an  armful  of  black  ducks.  The 
small  fireless  tent  was  a  poor  place  for  them  as  they 
were,  so  they  brought  over  Bowlen's  ragged  winter 
tent  and  stove  and  were  in  a  good  way.  A  flock  of 
eight  or  nine  geese  trumpeted  their  way  down  into  a 
passage  behind  the  island  across  and  later  the  boys 
made  a  long  hunt  to  find  them,  but  without  success. 
When  finally  the  storm  blew  out  we  paddled  some 
way  to  the  outlet  and  caught  two  or  three  dozen  trout, 
none  of  more  than  nine  or  ten  inches.  It  was  good 
water  but  we  seemed  to  have  cleared  them  pretty  well 
out. 

A  chain  of  lakes  and  streams  leads  west  of  north  to 
the  Eskimo,  a  few  miles  on,  and  through  its  Big  Lake 
toward  the  height  of  land.  Sylvest  pointed  out  a 
rather  high  burnt  mountain  that  he  said  overlooked 
this  lake,  of  which  he  made  me  a  good  map,  drawing 
steadily  almost  the  whole  intricate  outline  without  tak- 
ing his  pencil   from  the  paper.     He  was   a  natural 


330  Labrador 

draughtsman,  and  with  great  memory  for  natural  fea- 
tures. The  next  year  when  a  group  of  Indians  at  St. 
Augustine  came  to  a  halt  in  making  a  somewhat  sloppy 
map  of  the  region  he  managed  to  get  hold  of  the  pen- 
cil and  carry  the  rest  handsomely  and  clearly  through. 

It  was  now  a  matter  of  our  going  on.  The  boys 
wanted  to  take  Bowlen's  canoe  and  go.  This  I  was 
not  quite  willing  to  do,  though  much  tempted.  The 
way  the  boys  were  handling  the  craft  there  would  be 
as  good  as  nothing  left  of  it  by  the  time  we  got  back. 
There  was  a  reason  for  it,  the  white  hunters  were  un- 
welcome there,  crowding  the  Indians  off  their  grounds, 
and  while  the  Indians  did  not  dare  act  against  them, 
my  pair  would  have  happily  seen  to  it  that  there  was 
no  canoe  left  to  hunt  with  in  the  fall,  the  easier  that  it 
was  well  worn  already.  When  I  said  there  would  be 
no  bottom  left  in  it  if  we  made  the  trip  they  said  I  could 
pay  John.  This  I  shouldn't  have  minded,  but  there 
is  not  much  in  the  price  of  a  canoe  to  a  man  coming 
to  his  farthest  hunting  place  and  finding  himself  with- 
out one.  The  thing  might  mean  a  thousand  dollars  of 
fur  to  him,  besides,  in  his  mind,  as  much  more  in 
silver  foxes  that  he  was  sure  he  would  have  caught 
and  wouldn't  have.  .  .  .  The  bogs  were  nearly  afloat 
and  it  was  too  much  to  expect  the  boys  to  get  my 
large  canoe  over  and  then  back  again,  though  I  gave 
them  the  chance.  I  had  seen  the  portage  and  did  not 
press  them. 

The  last  evening  on  the  pond  a  curious  sharp  sound, 
a  little  doubtfully  a  bird  note,  came  from  up  the  shore. 
Coming  nearer  it  seemed  that  of  a  bird  more  certainly. 
The  boys  had  never  heard  it  before,  but  said  after  a 
while  they  were  sure  it  was  koko,  owl,  but  what  kind 


Eskimo  Bay  and  River  331 

they  did  not  know.  The  note  was  nearly  the  sharp 
unpleasant  draw  of  a  file,  lasting  one  and  a  half  to 
two  seconds,  across  a  saw.  When  going  on  in  the 
trees  alongside  the  tent  it  annoyed  me.  The  boys 
offered  to  fire  the  gun  and  drive  the  bird  away,  but 
presently  it  went  itself.  This  was  the  first  time  I  had 
found  Indians  at  a  loss  about  a  sound.  Yet  the  next 
year  on  St.  Augustine  the  same  thing  happened,  still 
another  Indian  had  never  heard  the  note  before.  We 
managed  to  shoot  the  bird  and  it  turned  out  a  common 
horned  owl,  of  somewhat  local  coloration.  Since  then 
I  have  asked  a  good  many  persons  familiar  with  the 
species  if  they  had  ever  heard  this  note,  but  none  had. 
The  bird  was  moulting  heavily  and  I  have  suspected 
used  the  note  only  when  in  this  condition  and  as  an 
expression  of  his  pin  feather  feelings.  As  the  Indians 
are  out  of  the  country  in  summer  it  was  not  very 
strange  that  the  young  persons  concerned  had  not 
happened  to  hear  it.  When  going  on  close  it  had  the 
effect  of  a  dentist's  file  on  me. 

There  was  nothing  of  pin  feathers  and  moping  in 
the  distant  talk  of  geese  that  sometimes  reached  us  in 
times  of  stillness,  or  in  the  cry  of  an  occasional  fast 
flying  loon  that  passed  high  to  some  other  pond.  The 
longer  cry  of  the  loon,  from  the  water,  heightened  the 
northern  loneliness,  yet  peopled  it  after  all.  A  smutty 
Labrador  jay  or  two  chortled  and  floated  from  tree  to 
tree  about  the  camp,  and  a  red  squirrel  almost  as  dark 
took  our  intrusion  as  red  squirrels  do.  Hardly  less 
of  the  place  than  these  creatures  were  the  two  Indians. 
It  was  not  a  bad  little  stay  there  at  the  Ushtahut  pond. 
I  should  like  to  camp  on  that  knoll  again. 

On  going  we  left  a  few  pounds  of  flour  and  lard 


332  Labrador 

on  Bowlen's  scaffold,  and  it  brought  the  remark  from 
him  a  year  later  "  You  were  in  there,"  in  the  tone  of 
one  making  an  admission.  Without  some  such  evi- 
dence all  the  shore  would  have  had  it  that  we  had  been 
only  a  little  out  of  sight  above  the  village.  I  am  not 
sure  but  this  unbelief  of  the  shore  people  in  accounts 
of  trips  inland  extends  to  one  another's  statements. 
The  thing  is  general  over  the  northeast  and  gets  tire- 
some. My  first  summer  about  Davis  Inlet  was  over 
before  the  people  would  admit  that  I  had  ever  been 
much  out  of  sight,  though  by  the  time  they  had  the 
evidence  together,  chiefly  that  of  certain  ration  cans 
I  used  to  throw  away  at  meal  places,  they  saw  how  it 
was.  They  were  pretty  bad  themselves,  almost  every- 
one had  been  inland  two  hundred  miles,  "  with  the 
dogs."  In  the  Straits  region  local  versions  of  decent 
men's  trips  amount  to  libel,  the  worst  case  I  have  come 
upon  being  that  of  Henry  B.  Bryant's  St.  Augustine 
expedition  in  19 12.  With  no  less  an  Arctic  traveller 
than  Russel  W.  Porter  as  surveyor  the  party  made  a 
good  map,  half  of  which  I  have  verified,  to  the  height 
of  land,  but  the  probably  permanent  story  of  the  coast 
is  that  they  only  went  a  few  miles,  "  about  to  where 
we  go  for  wood."  The  coast  people's  never  going  in- 
land in  summer  lends  itself  to  bad  conceptions  of  the 
flies  and  heat,  and  they  are  not  canoemen  enough  to 
realize  what  others  can  do.  There  is  a  touch  of  jeal- 
ousy in  it.  The  latter  trait,  peculiarly  natural  to 
hunters  and  fishermen  in  mere  self-preservation,  can, 
along  with  careless  statements,  do  other  harm  than  post- 
ing one  locally  as  a  romancer.  It  is  apt  to  affect  such 
information  as  people  could  perfectly  well  give  about 
the  country.     So  it  was  with  Hubbard  in  1903,  the 


Eskimo  Bay  and  River  333 

cloudy  descriptions  he  had  of  conditions  at  the  head 
of  Grand  Lake  ought  to  have  been  better.  Some  of 
the  people  he  talked  with  are  among  the  best  woods- 
men in  the  world,  and  no  competent  hunter  but  knows 
the  value  of  good  description  to  a  stranger,  and  how 
to  give  it.  It  was  so  in  the  case  of  Kenamou  in  19 19, 
our  descriptions  turned  out  scant.  In  a  way  this  sort 
of  thing  is  not  surprising,  the  hunters'  knowledge  is 
their  capital,  hard  earned,  and  they  are  under  no  obliga- 
tion to  hand  it  to  chance  outsiders. 

On  the  way  out  I  carried  nothing  but  the  rod.  At 
one  place,  falling  behind  the  boys,  I  over-ran  the  boys' 
tracks  at  a  turn  and  lost  twTenty  minutes  or  more  re- 
covering the  route  where  I  had  left  it.  For  a  while  I 
was  bothered,  the  bogs  were  alike  and  confusing. 
When  I  overhauled  the  others  they  were  sitting  down 
with  their  packs  off,  gazing  scaredly  at  the  back  trail. 
I  made  no  explanations  and  they  asked  none.  Shortly 
we  stopped  by  a  little  pond  for  luncheon,  whereupon 
Winipa  laid  hands  on  a  short  club  and  disappeared 
among  the  bog  spruces,  returning  presently  with  sev- 
eral spruce  partridges.  He  had  sneaked  as  near  as  he 
could  and  then  thrown  his  club. 

Sylvest  and  I  talked  as  we  fried  the  birds,  lying 
lazily  on  the  moss  in  the  sunshine,  and  in  the  end  be- 
came tangled  as  usual.  By  this  time  what  Indian  I 
had  was  a  little  brushed  up  and  I  cleared  the  matter 
by  putting  in  a  phrase  of  some  words  with  pretty  good 
Indian  intonation.  Sylvest  propped  himself  on  his  el- 
bow and  looked  at  me  in  surprise, — "  You  talk  Indian ! 
You  talk  Indian !  "  "  No,"  I  said,  "  I  know  the  names 
of  a  good  many  things." — "You  can  talk  Indian! 
You  with  us  two,  three  weeks,  you  talk   Indian  all 


334*  Labrador 

right !  ■'  My  ears  warmed  a  bit,  we  all  have  our  little 
weaknesses.  I  had  said  nothing  of  knowing  any  of 
their  words  at  the  start,  and  the  occasional  straighten- 
ing out  of  a  situation  by  a  word  or  two  had  been  hardly 
noticed. 

The  day's  walk,  of  perhaps  sixteen  or  seventeen 
miles,  was  wet  and  seemed  long.  The  bogs  were  well 
afloat.  In  the  afternoon  we  lost  the  path  for  half  an 
hour,  swinging  rather  wide  to  the  south,  though  aver- 
aging fairly  well  for  direction.  At  the  last  Sylvest 
struck  more  north,  tramping,  as  it  seems  now,  two- 
thirds  to  his  knees  in  the  killing  moss,  and  pack  or  no 
pack  keeping  me  puffing  and  falling  off  behind.  I 
nearly  lost  sight  of  him.  It  is  fair  to  say  that  I  was 
not  up  to  my  usual  mark  at  the  time.  Our  being  off 
the  path  so  long  was  no  credit  to  our  woodsmanship, 
but  the  portage  was  a  winter  one,  and  in  these  wide 
tree  muskegs  there  was  no  continuous  path  —  the  In- 
dians went  through  here  or  there  much  as  they  hap- 
pened to.  On  the  outward  march  also  we  were  with- 
out a  path  for  a  time. 

A  heavy  black  cloud  rose  behind  us  at  the  last,  and 
I  plunged  down  the  river  slope"  and  to  the  camp  place 
above  the  river  to  find  the  boys  just  raising  the  tent 
as  a  downpour  broke.  We  escaped  the  worst  of  it 
and  next  morning  were  off  under  a  blue  and  white  sky 
in  the  fast  river,  full  from  the  rain.  At  the  pool  Syl- 
vest let  off  a  shot  at  an  insolent  seal  that  would  not 
hurry,  not  much  to  its  prejudice.  With  a  rifle  we 
could  have  disciplined  the  lot.  Farther  up  Sylvest  had 
put  the  canoe  hard  after  a  seal  in  fast  shallow  water, 
getting  nearer  each  time  it  came  up  until  we  were 
alongside,   when   it   doubled   back   and   we   went   on. 


Eskimo  Bay  and  River  335 

Excepting  for  a  bunch  or  two  of  sheldrakes  that  led  us 
until  they  were  tired  and  took  to  the  bushes  there  was 
little  life  on  the  river.  On  below  the  Grassy  Point 
portage,  as  if  it  came  to  Sylvest  that  we  were  as  good 
as  at  the  shore  and  white  man's  methods  appropriate, 
a  touch  of  jockeying  appeared;  the  canoe  slowed. 
Sylvest  was  "  tired,"  it  was  a  hard  day,  we  could  not 
get  very  far  before  it  would  be  time  to  camp.  I  ar- 
gued that  it  was  nothing  to  what  we  had  been  doing 
other  days,  but  with  no  response.  I  was  annoyed, 
the  steamer  was  due  in  a  day  or  two  and  if  a  south 
wind  came  on  over  night  we  might  be  laid  up  at  the 
head  of  the  bay  until  it  blew  out.  It  was  nearly  sun- 
down before  the  meaning  of  the  slacking  came  to  me, 
and  the  remedy.  Then  I  told  Sylvest  that  if  we  got  in 
that  night  I  would  count  in  the  next  day  in  paying 
him.  He  lighted  up  and  forthwith  we  boiled  along, 
three  paddles  going  and  a  nearly  empty  canoe,  as  we 
had  not  done  that  day.  As  we  neared  the  tide  lake 
above  the  River  village  I  asked  Sylvest  if  he  was  tired 
now  —  "No,  not  tired,"  and  on  he  went. 

In  a  way  I  evened  with  him  later.  There  are  two 
things  Indians  have  deference  for,  one  is  night,  when 
the  various  manitu  are  abroad,  the  other  the  sea,  and 
the  two  in  combination  are  rather  too  much  for  them. 
If  not  alone  they  will  take  some  risks  with  the  land 
spirits,  but  night  chances  with  the  great  manitu  of  the 
sea,  the  stupendous  manitu  whose  slow,  twice  a  day 
breathing  causes  the  tides,  are  another  matter.  For 
this  tide  theory  they  are  not  without  argument :  — 
"  I  have  myself,"  an  Indian  friend  has  said,  "  seen  the 
water  so  coming  and  going  from  the  breathing  of  a 
beaver  under  the  ice."     Now  as  we  came  to  the  long 


336  Labrador 

narrows  above  the  vacant  River  village,  the  current 
with  us,  the  air  of  the  boys  became  absent,  furtive, 
and   instead   of   keeping   to   the   middle   they   almost 
scraped  the  shore,  I  could  not  get  them  away  from  it. 
We  were  slowed  by  the  shallow  water  and  the  eddies 
that  were   running  against  us,   and  in   danger   from 
under-water  boulders  we  could  not  see  in  the  twilight, 
while  the  main  current  we  ought  to  have  been  in  moved 
along  well  a  few  yards  away.     Luckily  it  was  nearly 
low  tide  and  most  of  the  barricado  boulders  were  up 
and  visible  or  we  must  have  struck  all  along,  as  it  was 
the  danger  kept  me  scared.     The  boys  kept  where  a 
jump  would  land  them  on  shore  or  at  least  in  very 
shallow  water.     How  they  crouched  and  paddled  when 
they  had  to  cross  from  one  island  to  another!     I  had 
worked  hard  while  they  were   slacking   in  the   river 
above,    now    I    clipped   lightly    and   chuckled.     While 
following  around  the  comparatively  safe  end  of  a  cove 
I  got  it  out  of  Sylvest  that  things  were  not  the  same 
on  salt  water  as  they  were  on  fresh.     I  was  impatient 
at  the  whole  thing,  not  liking  to  reach  the  Whiteleys' 
after  they  had  turned  in  for  their  always  short  sleep- 
ing hours.     It  did  no  good  to  urge  that  the  manitu 
would  not  hurt  them  while  I  was  along,  this  being  my 
voyage,  and  that  I  had  been  travelling  on  salt  water  at 
night  and  alone  all  over  the  north.     Finally  I  began  to 
nag  Sylvest  on  his  want  of  courage,  told  him  he  was 
in  twice  the  danger  from  the  boulders  than  he  was 
from  spirits,  that  the  spirits  would  get  him  anyway 
sooner  or  later,  get  him  from  behind,  and  I  was  glad 
of  it.     He  was  too  scared  to  care  what  I  said,  in  fact 
I  doubt  that  he  sensed  much  of  it,  but  japing  him 
helped  me  a  bit  as  we  followed  around  some  exasper- 


Eskimo  Bay  and  River  337 

ating  little  bays.  Once  on  land  the  boys  were  them- 
selves again  and  after  all  the  family  were  still  up. 
Afterward  Sylvest  recounted  our  night  run  to  George 
Whiteley,  finishing, — "  I  frightened  last  night  on  the 
salt  water.  Old  man  not  frightened  —  I  frightened !  " 
We  were  in  time  for  the  steamer.  I  got  Owen  Chev- 
alier to  sail  the  boys  home  and  we  parted  for  the  year. 


CHAPTER  XIII 

OBSERVATIONS 
BLACK-BACKED    GULLS 

With  later  observations  among  black-backs, 
especially  along  the  lower  Gulf,  I  have  come  to  believe 
that  the  old  pair  nesting  on  Entry  Island  at  Davis 
Inlet,  whose  amazing  ejaculations  gave  me  my  first  im- 
pressions, had  an  unusual  vocabulary.  The  ordinary 
guk-kuk-kk-kk  of  the  bird  when  one  is  pushing  among 
leafy  weeds  and  bushes  for  the  partly  fledged  squabs  is 
far  from  justifying  my  sketch,  nor  would  the  plea  of 
variation  among  individuals  do  it,  though  I  think  from 
their  appearance  and  wrought-up  state  of  mind  the 
birds  concerned  would  be  as  likely  as  any  to  show 
what  an  old  northern  bred  pair  could  do.  They 
seemed  to  have  the  island  to  themselves,  and  had  prob- 
ably used  the  site  a  long  time,  a  matter  which  goes 
with  extreme  manifestations  with  some  birds.  A 
pair  I  stirred  almost  to  the  point  of  onslaught  in  a 
later  year,  farther  up  the  run,  kept  well  to  the  usual 
diminishing  guk-  scale,  though  the  volume  of  their 
concussive  notes  as  they  swept  near  was  remarkable. 
Withal  it  has  been  my  impression  that  northern  birds 
had  more  voice  and  intonation  than  southern  ones, 
though  this  is  a  hard  thing  to  be  sure  of.  There  is 
at  least  no  doubt  that  I  came  upon  the  Entry  Island 

338 


Observations  339 

pair  at  the  height  of  their  emotional  season.  About 
that  region  there  was  a  plain  falling  off  in  the  range 
and  expressiveness  of  the  notes  as  the  season  went  on, 
until  in  the  course  of  three  or  four  weeks  they  be- 
came dry  and  infrequent.  By  the  last  of  August  they 
were  rarely  heard  at  all. 

The  cries  of  my  sketch  are  not  to  be  taken  as 
exact,  as  an  ornithologist  would  have  them.  But  I 
think  they  are  no  more  than  fair  to  the  vocabulary  I 
heard  about  July  12,  1903.  Afterwards  I  was  never 
able,  usually  as  a  matter  of  ice,  to  reach  the  coast  so 
early. 

CREATURE    COLORATIONS 

The  dispensation  under  which  wild  creatures  more  or 
less  match  their  natural  surroundings,  at  times  seem 
part  of  them,  is  at  its  simplest  in  the  north.  Any  one 
can  see  most  of  the  resemblances ;  there  are  no  such 
problems  as  in  the  southern  field,  with  its  overhead 
blaze  and  the  amazing  creature  costumes  that  go  with 
it ;  problems  for  the  painter  alone  —  no  one  else  can  get 
far  with  them. 

For  the  northern  field  only  a  fair  eye  for  line  and 
shade  is  needed,  familiarity  with  the  conditions  and 
the  ways  of  the  creatures,  not  much  else.  In  the  case 
of  such  prevailing  species  as  the  northern  hare  and 
ptarmigan,  ground  color  in  summer,  white  in  winter, 
interpretation  is  obvious  to  any  one.  Almost  all  the 
day  creatures  are  lighter  in  winter  than  summer,  com- 
monly, where  they  are  really  white,  with  a  dark  or  black 
mark  somewhere.  The  problem  of  all  these  is  simple; 
a  beginners'  study  so  to  say,  in  black  and  white. 

Morning  and  evening  tints  are  somewhat  reckoned 


340  Labrador 

with,  the  warm  lights  of  the  long  sunrise  and  sunset 
periods ;  there  is  not  much  call  otherwise  for  pure  color. 
The  spruces  are  rarely  lit  to  more  than  bronze,  the 
birches  to  pale  yellow.  How  a  tanager  would  blaze  in 
these ! 

There  are  delicate  touches  of  almost  all  colors.  The 
buff-breasted  merganser  carries  its  singularly  beauti- 
ful under  tint,  an  idealization  from  spring  rivers  in 
their  yellow  brown ;  but  it  is  faint,  detectable  at  a  dis- 
tance only  in  relation  with  clear  water  and  ice.  The 
green  of  the  eider's  head  is  really  green,  between  that 
of  rockweed  and  the  wash  of  surf  over  ledges.  The 
red  of  crossbills,  pine  grosbeaks  and  young  willow 
ptarmigan  is  bricky  to  purple,  matching  best  the  bronze 
reds  of  the  spruces  in  the  times  of  low  morning  and 
evening  sun  when  the  birds  are  quiescent.  Bright 
colors  do  not  much  appear  in  the  main  schemes  of  the 
birds,  they  are  merely  touched,  tipped,  sometimes  with 
the  light-dispersing  agency  of  crests  or  fringes. 

The  solid  red  brown  of  the  red-breasted  merganser 
appears  a  river  bank  or  ground  color,  as  does  that  of 
the  mallard  drake,  robin  and  chewink,  and,  as  to  its 
head,  at  least  the  summer  merganser.  That  the  bank- 
colored  head  of  the  latter  can  serve  its  purpose  ap- 
peared with  some  emphasis  during  a  trip  on  the  Peri- 
bonka  rather  long  ago.  An  old  merganser  left  a  nearly 
grown  brood  doing  their  best  ahead  of  us  in  mid- 
stream and  made  for  the  shore,  my  friend  following 
with  the  forward  canoe,  gun  ready.  We  in  the  rear 
canoe  could  see  the  bird  settle  at  the  water  line,  its 
tail  perhaps  in  the  water  and  body  sloping  upward. 
Its  head  was  invisible  to  us  against  the  brown  bank. 
To  our  eyes  the  bird  was  a  perfect  beach  stone  of  some 


Observations  341 

twenty  pounds  weight.  There  were  few  or  no  real 
stones  near.  When  my  friend  in  the  bow  was  within 
a  rod  or  so  of  the  bird,  his  eye  doubtless  in  the  bushes 
a  yard  or  two  above  water,  the  thing  exploded  straight 
for  his  canoe,  kicking  up  more  water  than  one  would 
believe,  until  it  scraped  by  and  took  to  wing,  leaving 
the  hunter  beyond  speech. 

It  was  a  clean  piece  of  work,  but  the  surprising  thing 
was  to  see  it  done  over  again  by  the  same  bird  a  few 
bends  below,  in  exactly  the  same  way.  Nor  was  my 
friend  a  novice,  unless  at  sheldrakes,  and  his  two  canoe- 
men  were  used  to  the  local  rivers. 

The  sequel  is  not  in  point,  but  needing  ducks  we  fol- 
lowed the  brood  until  they  tired,  and  standing  in  the 
bow  I  missed  three  or  four  rifle  shots  as  they  popped 
up  and  under  five  or  six  feet  away.  They  were  too 
quick.  The  sight  was  too  much  for  my  Indian  steers- 
man, who  without  warning  stood  up  with  his  paddle, 
turned  the  canoe  bodily  around  and  fairly  hauled  it 
along,  we  supporting,  until  up  with  the  ducks  again. 
Then  with  his  single  paddle  the  Indian  twisted,  drove, 
backed,  shot  the  canoe  about  like  a  devil.  When  a 
duck  came  up  he  struck  the  water  with  the  flat  of  his 
paddle  to  make  it  dive  before  getting  a  full  breath, 
and  soon  he  began  to  hit  the  ducks  themselves;  in  the 
end  he  got  most  of  them.  Between  us  C.  and  I  had  a 
lesson  that  day  in  sheldraking. 

In  most  species  the  plan  does  not  descend  to 
dead,  muddy  colors.  They  are  only  so  at  a  distance. 
Near  to  they  are  alive,  sometimes  iridescent.  It  is 
so  even  in  the  summer  sheldrake,  certainly  in  the  mal- 
lard. .Red  browns  are  mostly  rich,  grays  silky.  The 
smutty  Labrador  jay  is  perhaps  at  the  bottom  of  the 


342  Labrador 

list  —  it  is  a  ghoul  bird ;  yet  in  winter,  floating  about 
and  more  silvery,  there  is  more  to  say  for  it.  There 
is  little  or  no  sheen  about  the  summer  wolverene,  and 
some  other  species  in  moult  phases,  while  with  young 
birds  generally  the  matter  of  beauty  is  certainly  one 
of  the  future. 

The  task  of  disguising  a  bird's  head,  and  at  the  same 
•time  beautifying  it  to  emphasis,  for  the  same  reason 
that  we  do  ours,  is  met  rather  boldly  at  ti-mes.  In  some 
species  the  head  is  simply  cut  off,  made  black,  as  in 
the  robin,  or  white  as  in  our  eagle  —  the  one  disap- 
pearing against  black  shadows,  the  other  against  the 
sky.  In  young  birds,  without  strength  or  weapons, 
and  that  only  nose  the  ground  for  concealment,  the 
head  agrees  in  tone  with  the  back.  The  final  resource 
of  the  old  bird  is  his  agility,  craft  and  sometimes  fight- 
ing powers ;  commonly  he  must  see  well,  his  head  must 
be  out ;  he  must  be  ready  to  dodge,  flee  or  maybe  strike. 
In  our  present  knowledge  we  can  see  fairly  the  factors 
that  make  for  initial  concealment  and  discovery,  but 
of  the  final  circumstances  of  pursuit  and  escape  or 
capture,  the  field  naturalists'  part,  we  have  little  that 
is  intimate.  In  the  final  passages  the  balance,  which- 
ever way  it  turns,  may  be  close,  and  the  partly  mental 
elements  that  enter  into  the  more  or  less  instantaneous 
decision  past  measuring.  We  do  know  that  visual 
appearance  counts  in  such  warfare,  even  as  a  person 
in  white  is  easier  to  deal  with  at  night  than  one  that 
matches  the  darkness,  and  a  warship  in  one  color  easier 
than  one  cut  into  sections  by  camouflage. 

To  return  to  the  simple  harmonizing  of  creatures 
with  their  surroundings,  the  northeastern  caribou  in 
his  light  and  dark  grays  may  be  taken  as  an  instance  of 


Observations  343 

average  protection  in  a  rather  wide  range  of  condi- 
tions. At  a  distance  he  is  well  matched  with  the  gray 
of  the  barrens  and  particularly  with  the  boulders  every- 
where; it  is  very  hard  to  tell  him  from  one  of  the  lat- 
ter when  lying.  His  mane,  besides  breaking  the  wind, 
betters  his  chance  against  a  throat  snap  from  a  wolf, 
who  cannot  well  estimate  the  actual  throat  line  and  may 
come  off  with  only  a  mouthful  of  hair,  as  a  pursuer 
sometimes  does  with  the  tail  feathers  of  a  bird.  In 
the  distance  the  light  colored  mane  destroys  the  under 
shadow  of  the  neck  and  goes  far  to  obliterate  the  fore 
part  of  the  animal. 

A  speculation  goes  with  the  marked  back-sweep  and 
level  return  of  the  northeastern  type  of  horns. 
Whether  the  matter  is  accidental  or  not,  it  does  repro- 
duce the  whitened  spruce  tops  of  the  semi-barrens, 
killed  perhaps  by  ice  storms  and  turned  over  level  to 
remain.  It  might  be  argued  that  such  deer  as  had  these 
imitative  horns  would  tend  to  survive  the  others  and 
perpetuate  the  type. 

The  only  feature  of  the  moderate  sized  black  bear 
of  the  country  that  makes  for  protection  in  daylight  is 
its  light  brown  muzzle,  after  the  type  of  the  donkey 
and  wild  horse,  which  is  apparently  to  be  taken  as  a 
partial  head  effacer. 

The  case  of  the  wolverene  is  notable  from  its  having 
a  night  coloration,  somewhat  skunk-like,  in  winter,  and 
a  day  one,  simulating  a  boulder,  in  summer.  The  use 
of  this  shift  is  plain,  the  creature  is  probably  a  night 
hunter  by  preference,  at  any  rate  it  has  to  be  one  in 
winter,  when  there  is  little  daylight,  while  in  summer 
the  case  is  reversed,  there  is  no  darkness  to  speak  of 
and  a  day  pelage  is  obviously  the  one  to  have. 


344  Labrador 

For  a  long  time  the  creamy  tint  of  the  winter  wol- 
verene's light  band  was  a  puzzle  to  me.     By  analogy 
with  most  night  colorations  it  should  have  been  whiter. 
Finally  it  came  to  me  that  the  shade  was  not  to  be  re- 
lated merely  to  light,  but  partly  to  the  sky,   if  not 
wholly  to  the  tinted  caribou  moss  over  the  country. 
The  correspondence  is  close.     On  large  old  wolverenes 
the  pale  band  or  oval  can  hardly  be  traced,  the  animal 
coming  to  a  nearly  uniform  dark  maroon  color.     In  so 
abandoning  their  earlier  markings  they  may  be  classed 
with  old  eagles  and  other  old  birds  already  mentioned, 
but  in  the  present  case  the  change  is  progressive,  and 
complete  only  in  really  old  animals.     As  far  as  enemies 
are  concerned  these  powerful  crafty  old  beasts  would 
seem  to  need  no  concealment,  even  without  their  tree 
climbing  resource.     If  one  was  backed  among  boulders 
it  is  hard  to  see  what  a  bear  or  troop  of  wolves  could 
do  with  him.     The  species  has  black  undersides,  or 
nearly  black,  an  unusual  thing  when  the  back  is  not 
the  same  color.     The  opposite  way,  as  in  most  fish, 
dark  above  and  shaded  to  white  below,  is  by  far  the 
usual  one.     This  makes  a  creature  look  flat,  unreal. 
Under  usual  conditions  a  partridge  seen  sideways  in 
a  tree  is  a  mere  ghost.     The  reverse  is  true  when  a 
creature  has  its  light  side  up.     Then  it  assumes  undue 
solidity  and  seizes  the  eye.     So  with  the  wolverene, 
but  his  black  base  line  seems  intended  less  for  the  usual 
shadow  under  a  boulder  than  the  slightly  raised  rim  of 
black  soil  that  surrounds  most  stones  of  size  in  the 
barrens  —  a  result  of  freezings  and  thawings  of  spring. 
In  result  the  creature  is  made  conspicuous  rather  than 
effaced,  but  to  the  same  end. 

One  might  well  pause,  in  these  matters,  before  the 


Observations  345 

colorings  of  red  and  black  foxes  and  their  intermedi- 
ates. Born  in  the  same  litter,  and  with  all  factors  of 
place  and  the  rest  the  same,  so  far  as  we  can  see  they 
come  through  one  as  well  as  another.  So  with  their 
nearest  kin  the  wolf,  who  varies  well  from  black  to 
white.  In  more  than  half  it  is  probably  safe  to  say, 
the  answer  is  simply  wits,  mind  —  mind  flexible,  plan- 
ning, understanding,  with  the  adjuncts  of  nose,  speed, 
teeth  and  a  long  spring.  The  matter  of  suitability  of 
appearance  is  lost  in  their  sufficiency.  Indeed  it  is  hard 
to  see  how  a  creature  of  the  universality  of  the  fox  as 
a  hunter  of  all  small  game,  by  many  methods,  from  the 
thick  woods  to  the  treeless  open,  could  be  closely  har- 
monized to  any  set  of  surroundings.  There  is  nothing 
to  tie  to  either  in  him  or  his  places.  Give  him  color 
of  the  dry  leaves  and  the  river  bank  and  not  much  bet- 
ter can  be  done;  not  for  the  summer  or  even  the  winter 
latitudes  where  the  red  fox  really  belongs.  He  can 
live  well  enough  further  north;  what  matter?  he  is  a 
twilight  and  night  hunter,  and  in  the  dark  all  cats  are 
gray,  gray  enough  for  one  like  him. 

The  black  fox  belongs  with  the  north,  is  seen  in  our 
home  places  by  few  in  a  lifetime.  That  his  color 
should  fit  the  white  north  better  than  that  of  the  red 
seems  strange,  except  for  his  rear  silvering,  but  as  may 
appear  he  finds  something  besides  snow  to  resemble 
even  there.  His  unblending  mix  by  patches  and  other 
awkward  presentments,  in  cross  litters  with  the  red,  sug- 
gests his  being  off  by  himself  for  a  long  past  in  what- 
ever surroundings  best  suited  the  coloration. 

By  latitudes  the  gray  southern  fox  laps  upon  the  red, 
the  red  upon  and  perhaps  through  the  silver,  the  silver 
upon  the  arctic  white.     The  counterfoil  of  both  black 


346  Labrador 

and  red  in  the  open  north  is  chiefly  wind  swept  rock ; 
there  are  always  wind  swept  ledge  points  and  stones 
showing  through  in  the  broken  ground  where  they 
hunt.  The  snowfall  is  not  great  in  these  regions  and 
most  of  it  is  swept  into  hollows.  Photographs  of 
arctic  lands,  taken  summer  or  winter,  usually  show 
bare  ground.  The  barren  ground  caribou  has  not  the 
great  snowshoe  feet  of  the  woodland  sort  in  the  snowy 
south,  nor  if  some  hunters  are  to  be  believed,  is  the 
track  of  a  black  fox  as  large  as  that  of  a  red.  This 
might  well  be. 

A  main  reward  of  one's  winter  trips  is  the  really 
snow  creatures  like  the  ptarmigan  that  turn  white  in 
winter.  In  summer  the  ordinary  ptarmigan  differs 
not  much  in  its  average  brown  from  the  common  vary- 
ing hare,  the  young  birds  running  to  a  strong  rufous 
toward  the  head.  Withal  even  the  hare  may  not  be  as 
variable,  one  I  saw  in  September  at  Eskimo  river 
looked  blue  gray  at  twenty  yards  distance.  Here  the 
country  was  gray  with  moss  but  for  areas  of  spruce 
scrub.  This  is  so  dense  that  a  rabbit  once  in  it  would 
need  little  color  protection,  being  nearly  as  safe  as  if 
in  a  hole.  The  specimen  I  saw  seemed  to  match  the 
gray  moss  pretty  well,  but  after  all  may  have  only  been 
turning  white  for  winter.  The  summer  color  of  the 
arctic  hare  is  certainly  gray,  blue  gray  set  off  with 
black  and  white,  like  the  hilltop  stones  of  its  summer 
place,  and  so  with  the  rock  ptarmigan.  Both,  like  the 
summer  wolverene,  are  bold  deceptions,  and  singularly 
successful  ones ;  the  inadventurous  brown  of  the  wood 
hare  and  willow  ptarmigan  is  much  easier  to  cope  with. 
The  varying  hare  or  northern  rabbit  never  quite  as- 
sumes the  Arctic,  only  the  tips  of  his  hair  turning  white. 


Observations  347 

In  windy  times  he  can  take  few  chances  on  the  open 
snow  for  the  brown  streaks  that  open  with  the  puffs. 
It  is  not  so  bad  for  him  among  the  sprouts,  with  their 
similar  color,  but  in  the  white  windy  open  he  lingers 
not.  The  arctic  hare  does,  sits  as  he  will,  in  his  long 
dense  fur  white  to  the  very  skin.  The  Arctic  fox  has 
the  same  woolly  white  fur.  I  have  seen  only  its  tail 
in  summer,  between  rocks;  it  was  of  a  discouraging 
Isabella  drab  appearance. 

An  Eskimo  has  mentioned  the  sea  pigeon  or  black 
guillemot  as  turning  white  in  winter.  I  have  seen  the 
young  birds  in  a  ghostly  between  stage  in  October,  as 
born  of  the  ice  edge  where  they  were.  But  the  change 
in  an  old  bird,  jet  black  save  for  its  wing  patches,  to 
white,  if  it  occurs,  would  be  the  most  startling  of  the 
winter  transformations. 

The  snowy  owl  does  not  yield  wholly  to  either  sum- 
mer or  winter  surroundings,  though  an  old  one  can  be 
very  nearly  white.  The  weasels  I  have  seen  went  from 
summer  brown  or  gray  brown  to  absolute  winter  white. 
A  lemming  skin  or  two  that  turned  up  at  a  mission 
were  silvery. 

The  pine  grosbeak  type  of  coloration,  the  upper  parts 
dull  red  or  yellow,  may  reasonably  be  taken  as  of  con- 
cealing effect  when  the  birds  are  at  rest,  particularly  in 
the  tinted  lights  of  morning  and  evening.  They  repeat 
the  bronzed  spruce  ends.  But  the  true  morning  tinted 
species  are  the  roseate  ones,  the  rosy  gull  of  the  actual 
Arctic,  the  rosy  tern,  the  spoonbill  and  others  of  the 
tropics.  In  a  late  year  it  was  a  surprise  to  me  to  find 
the  willow  ptarmigan  within  this  group.  During  a 
great  deal  of  experience  with  the  bird  I  had  taken  it  as 
white,     The  color  first  showed  in  one  that  fell  on  its 


348  Labrador 

back  in  a  brook  channel,  at  the  time  an  abrupt  snow 
hollow  four  or  five  feet  deep,  where  the  natural  blue 
shadow  became  bluer  than  ordinary  by  reflection  from 
the  sides.  Intensified  in  the  same  way  between  the 
body  and  relaxed  wings  of  the  bird,  and  brought  out  by 
the  blue  background,  appeared  a  strong  rose  color. 
Once  seen,  it  was  plain  in  any  bird,  all  over,  though  the 
old  ones  showed  it  most.  This  was  toward  the  Hud- 
son's Bay  divide  north  of  Lake  St.  John,  in  19 13.  In 
a  later  year  I  mentioned  the  matter  to  an  observing 
white  hunter  in  the  lower  gulf,  and  he  simply  remarked, 
"  They're  red." 

So  far  as  I  know  the  fact  has  escaped  the  books, 
though  probably  known  to  many  who  have  known  the 
bird  in  the  life.  The  overlooking  by  students  of  this 
wide  spread  snow  creature  as  within  the  morning 
tinted  group  is  probably  from  the  early  fading  of  the 
color,  as  with  all  organic  pinks,  after  the  bird  is  shot. 
Students  generally  are  not  out  in  the  north  in  winter 
and  skins  they  have  examined  have  probably  been 
white. 

Specimens  I  brought  in  seemed  to  have  faded  about 
half  in  three  weeks,  though  stronger  then  than  in  a 
rosy  tern  that  had  been  kept  a  year  or  more  in  the  dark. 
The  color  seems  to  associate  with  the  red  already  men- 
tioned in  the  summer  young.  There  seems  a  definite 
pigmentation  toward  red  in  the  species.  Rock  ptar- 
migan, with  their  gray  heads  and  upper  parts,  may  well 
be  snow  white  in  winter. 

The  special  danger  time  of  the  willow  ptarmigan 
would  seem  to  be  when  quiescent  at  morning  and  eve- 
ning. Then  they  are  nested  into  the  snow  under  the 
evergreens   and  alders,    inert  and   easily  approached. 


Observations  349 

At  these  times  of  day  the  birds  tone  with  the  tinted 
light  that  breaks  through  the  cover.  To  our  eyes  the 
tint  passes  for  white,  at  a  distance.  A  collection  of 
thirteen  remarkably  successful  snow  landscapes  I  have 
lately  seen,  the  snow  being  in  sun,  all  showed  free  use 
of  red  in  arriving  at  the  snow  effect. 

Seen  sideways  even  a  ptarmigan  would  show  some 
shading  below  and  perhaps  some  lightness  above,  under 
usual  conditions.  This  is  met  by  the  slanting  back  bar 
of  the  tail  primaries,  hidden  from  front  and  back  by 
white  covert  feathers.  The  bar  perfectly  simulates 
alder  ends  sticking  at  angles  through  the  snow,  and  is 
taken  for  one,  but  at  the  same  time  holds  the  eye  and 
nearly  destroys  its  power  of  distinguishing  the  main 
bird.  Thayer's  instance  of  a  blot  on  water-marked 
paper  is  in  point  —  while  the  paper  is  clean  the  water- 
mark is  easy  to  see,  but  alongside  of  an  ink  blot  it  is 
hard  to  make  out.  The  black  ptarmigan  eye,  looking 
like  an  alder  bud,  serves  the  same  end,  and  perhaps  the 
black  tip  on  the  ears  of  various  white  hares. 

Before  the  great  war  the  suggestion  that  certain 
large  creature  patterns  in  nearly  black  and  white, 
secant  colorations  Thayer  names  them,  could  be  in  any 
way  protecting,  aroused  almost  violent  protest.  Many 
birds  such  as  drake  eiders  and  bluebills  fall  under  the 
description  and  various  animals  over  the  world.  They 
are  cut  across  regardlessly.  There  is  no  question  that 
drake  colorations  of  the  sort  are  conspicuous  in  most 
situations.  One's  impulse  on  coming  to  a  pair  of 
spring  whistlers  is  certainly  to  aim  at  the  showy  one. 
Nature  may  well  have  a  tendency  to  sacrifice  the  male 
rather  than  the  female  at  that  season  for  the  good  of 
the  race.     At  least  the  enemy  would  be  drawn  away 


350  Labrador 

from  the  latter.  The  question  is,  in  case  of  attack  by 
a  natural  enemy,  what  of  the  sequel,  the  pursuit  and 
final  capture  or  escape?  Is  not  the  drake  cut  into  two 
or  three  unrelated  sections  harder  for  the  enemy  to  deal 
with  than  he  would  be  in  a  consistent  color  pattern? 
It  has  proved  so  with  ships.  The  cases  are  curiously 
alike.  Furthermore  the  strength  and  swiftness  of  a 
spring  bird  would  enable  him  to  make  the  most  of  this 
kind  of  help. 

TORNGAT 

The  really  interesting  question  of  the  re-establish- 
ment of  fish  and  other  life  after  the  ice  period  is  how 
far  it  proceeded  from  the  coastal  or  Torngat  range  in 
the  northeast.  The  range  stood  above  the  ice  flow,  an 
island  and  a  large  one,  between  the  Atlantic  and  the 
vast  moving  sheet  westward.  Side  streams  from  the 
latter  found  their  way  east  through  low  places  in  the 
range,  and  there  was  a  great  discharge  through  Hud- 
son's Straits,  but  the  main  movement  of  the  ice  was 
north  to  the  polar  sea;  and  of  course,  as  Low  has  re- 
marked, toward  open  water.  In  the  far  north  the  land 
was  six  hundred  feet  higher  than  now,  and  the  sea 
passages  correspondingly  deeper  and  wider,  with  what- 
ever of  different  currents  and  tides  from  the  first  ones. 
Something  of  this  part  must  have  been  changed,  the 
Labrador  current  may  have  been  reversed  for  all  we 
know,  its  bergs  going  north. 

It  seems  likely  that  so  large  an  unglaciated  area  as 
the  present  one,  possibly  two  hundred  miles  by  forty  or 
fifty,  carried  some  life  through  the  ice  period.  The 
climate  should  have  been  better  than  that  of  present 
day  Greenland,  with  its  fairly  large  fauna.     The  pres- 


Observations  351 

ent  warm  wind  of  Labrador,  from  southwest,  was  cut 
off  by  the  central  cap,  but  winds  from  southeast  and 
east  might  have  pretty  well  taken  its  place. 

The  question  may  even  be  whether  there  were  trees. 
Whether  or  no,  the  occurrence  of  the  lake  trout  and 
whitefish  on  the  Atlantic  side  of  the  region,  and  some 
peculiarities  of  the  Labrador  caribou,  are  easier  ac- 
counted for  by  their  having  held  over  somewhere  near 
by  than  their  coming  fifteen  hundred  or  two  thousand 
miles  across  country  after  the  ice  was  gone.  Almost 
certainly  some  life  held  on.  One's  natural  first  thought 
of  conditions  between  the  great  cap  and  the  pole  as 
more  Arctic  than  anything  we  know,  and  certainly 
lifeless,  is  a  good  way  beyond  the  fact.  The  winter 
climate  there  was,  perhaps,  less  severe  than  now. 

That  general  conditions  were  not  the  worst  is  argued, 
aside  from  geological  data,  from  a  bird  migration 
route,  that  of  the  European  wheatear.  Summering 
along  the  Labrador  well  south  to  Hamilton  Inlet  it  re- 
turns to  its  African  wintering  place  by  way  of  Green- 
land, Iceland  and  England.  Inference  is  that  its  route 
cannot  have  been  long  cut  off  by  glacial  conditions,  or 
the  bird  would  have  lost  its  habit  of  movement. 

The  apex  of  the  cap  was  in  the  low  latitude  of  53. 
When  the  ice  began  to  build  the  climate  may  have  been 
very  nearly  the  same  as  now ;  a  little  extra  winter  pre- 
cipitation, snowfall,  was  all  needed,  and  is  now,  for  the 
same  thing  to  begin  over  again.  A  little  more  east 
wind  and  cloudiness  would  do  it.  No  remarkable  cold 
is  necessary,  in  fact  great  cold  is  against  snowfall. 

Conditions  at  Mistassini  Lake,  where  in  places  frost 
remains  in  the  ground  all  summer,  this  in  the  low  lati- 
tude of  510,  are  considerably  due  to  abnormal  cloudi- 


352  Labrador 

ness.  The  factors  to  this  are  the  cold,  deep  lake,  a 
hundred  miles  long,  and  the  warm  southwest  wind  of 
the  peninsula,  with  its  natural  moisture,  blowing 
lengthwise  of  it.  The  cold  lake,  condensing  the  mois- 
ture, keeps  itself  shrouded  with  mist  and  drizzling  rain 
well  through  the  summer. 

The  effects  of  a  cloudy  summer  appeared  in  the  gulf 
in  19 1 2,  August  being  a  dark  month  almost  through- 
out. The  fishermen  complained  that  they  could  not 
dry  their  fish.  Off  Harrington,  twro  hundred  miles 
from  the  sea,  a  sharp  edged,  handsome  berg  showed 
how  little  sun  there  had  been.  The  air  might  have 
ranged  from  380  to  440,  perhaps  warmer.  It  was 
plain  that  with  even  milder  conditions  inland  the  snow 
would  not  all  go  that  year,  that  with  continuance  of 
such  summers  the  ice-cap  would  be  restored.  A 
change  in  a  sea  current  or  prevailing  wind  might  bring 
it  about. 

The  changes  of  land  elevation  that  seem  a  cause  in 
these  ice-cap  matters  have  not  been  well  explained. 
Geologists  have  a  good  deal  of  toleration  for  the  crust 
sensitiveness  theory,  and  it  fits  the  Labrador  showing 
well.  When  the  ice  was  high  the  land  was  low,  and 
now  that  the  ice  is  gone  the  land  is  fast  rising,  is  re- 
gaining its  former  level.  Again,  Greenland,  whose  cap 
is  probably  building,  appears  to  be  sinking,  as  it  ought 
to  do  under  the  theory. 

But  this  is  met  by  the  fact  that  along  Ellsmere  land, 
where  glaciation  has  been  least,  subsidence  and  eleva- 
tion have  been  greatest.  As  Low  observes,  we  may 
have  been  taking  cause  for  effect,  and  the  going  of  the 
ice  have  been  due  to  a  sudden  elevation  of  the  land  from 
some  wholly  unknown  cause. 


Observations  353 

The  total  unglaciated  area  in  the  north  must  have 
been  large,  and  if  life  held  over  in  it  anywhere  it  prob- 
ably did  so  rather  widely,  and  the  presence  of  land  life 
at  all  argues  vegetation  too.  If  both  these  did  not 
exist  in  the  Torngats  it  would  seem  extraordinary. 
Their  position  on  the  open  ocean,  their  sun  of  57°-6o°, 
and  large  area  sheltered  from  the  icefield  west,  are  ad- 
vantages well  beyond  those  of  the  settled  part  of 
Greenland  today.  The  very  north  end  of  Greenland, 
in  82-83,  is  bare  of  ice  and  has  its  muskoxen,  and  in- 
cidentally grass.  The  snowfall  there  must  be  almost 
nothing.  .  .  .  One  hesitates  to  mention  the  resem- 
blance of  northeastern  caribou  horns  to  the  European 
type,  or,  by  the  same  token,  possibility  of  a  northeast 
land  route  at  some  time,  though  it  is  perhaps  lawful, 
taking  the  map  for  it,  to  wonder  whether  the  Appala- 
chian push  does  really  exhaust  itself  at  the  present 
polar  shore,  say  at  the  north  of  Greenland.  The 
chances  seem  that  it  does. 

The  circulation  of  currents  in  the  north  must  have 
been  much  greater  during  the  ice  period  than  now. 
Everywhere  the  water  was  five  or  six  hundred  feet 
deeper,  the  sea  passages  correspondingly  wider,  low 
lying  land  of  the  present  time  everywhere  submerged. 
A  great  deal  of  water  from  warmer  latitudes  must  have 
passed  into  the  polar  area.  What  such  water  can  ef- 
fect is  shown  by  the  Franz  Joseph  Land  polynia,  open 
in  midwinter  at  830 ;  and  by  the  open  winter  route 
around  North  Cape  and  the  Kola  peninsula  in  71  °. 

It  is  not  certain  that  higher  creatures  than  have  been 
mentioned  did  not  hold  over,  somewhere  north  of  the 
cap,  namely  Eskimo  —  where  they  were  at  the  time 
has  not  clearly  appeared.     They  suggest  no  contact 


354  Labrador 

with  other  peoples,  but  rather  that  they  have  been  away 
by  themselves  somewhere.  Everything  they  have, 
clothes  and  means  generally,  their  ways,  suggests  this ; 
quite  as  most  things  about  the  northern  Indians,  liv- 
ing near  by,  look  to  the  south:  clothes,  means  of  all 
sorts,  ways.  Their  warm  climate  inheritance  is  upon 
them  even  to  its  taste  in  color.  The  Eskimo  holds  well 
to  the  gray,  white  and  black  of  his  surroundings. 

Did  the  Eskimo  bring  his  scaphoid  skull  across  the 
polar  sea,  from  the  river  caves  of  Europe  where  it  be- 
longs ?  Our  first  traces  of  him  are  not  west  or  east  but 
well  to  the  middle  of  the  continental  coast.  If  he,  and 
the  creatures  on  which  he  depends,  outwintered  the 
cap  not  on  this  side  of  it  but  in  a  decentish  climate,  as 
Eskimo  climates  go,  on  the  other,  things  about  them 
would  be  easier  to  explain. 


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